No Safe Place
by Blue Kangaroo
Summary: "It's a genius plan. People will be scrutinizing everyone under a microscope, wondering who they really are." Jack and Renee are facing a terror threat unlike any that they have ever seen. Are there any places left in America that are truly safe?
1. Chapter 1

**No Safe Place**

**Summary:** Jack Bauer is facing a terror threat unlike any that he has ever seen. American citizens are left wondering if there is any truly safe place, as they realize that appearances are deceiving and people may not be who they seem. _**(Minor spoilers for Season 8; occasional brief mentions of Season 8 events.)**_

**Rating:** PG-13 for violence and language.

**Disclaimer:** I own 24! The DVD's are very pretty in their shiny cases…. As much as I would like to, I don't own the actual show or any of its characters. They belong to Jon Cassar and the other geniuses who created them.

Chapter 1

Jessica Davis was rudely and abruptly jerked from a sound sleep as a pillow thudded against the side of her head.

Squinting in the glare of the sunlight that poured into her room, she lunged upright and caught her seven-year-old brother's arm as he tried to scramble off the bed. Will blinked and shrugged, feigning innocence. "Mom sent me in to wake you up. She says you're running way late and need to get up right now."

Jessica groaned. "Well, I'm awake. Now get out of here." Will darted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"You're running really late," their mother greeted her as Jessica trudged into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine, until Will dove onto my bed like a kamikaze pilot and whacked me in the head with a pillow," Jessica said shortly. Glancing at the clock, she replaced her cereal bowl in the cabinet and shoved two Pop Tarts in the toaster instead. "Caitlin will be here to pick me up in a few minutes; I don't have time for anything else. I'll get a muffin or something from the vending machine when we get to school."

Shaking her head, her mother placed the Pop Tarts on a paper plate. Jessica hastily brushed her teeth, secured her hair in its usual ponytail, and swept the textbooks and binders that were scattered across the table into her backpack. A horn honked from the driveway. "That's Caitlin. I'm staying after school today to work on sets for the Drama play, so I'll be home around six." Grabbing the Pop Tarts and backpack, she hurried towards the door.

"Love you," her mother called after her. "Have a good day."

"You too." The front door slammed closed and feet thudded down the steps.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack Bauer remembered, once upon a time, looking forward to finishing work and getting home at a decent hour to play with Kim and talk to Teri. Those times were long gone. For too many years, there had been no family to go home to. There had been offices, various apartments, and the too-frequent tent or military barracks in some far-off land. Then there were the days of his DOD assignment in Washington DC with Audrey and the hotel rooms and apartment they had shared. That was gone now, too. He had thrown himself back into the world of long days, late nights, and a glass-walled office cube at CTU.

Now, again, he had people to go home to and a reason to watch the clock. _Renee._ A sniper's bullet had almost stolen Renee from him, but she had survived and recovered. _Kim, Stephen, and Teri._ The three of them had managed to arrange their work schedules so that they all had time to spend with the precious little girl. Kim worked as a classroom and playground aide at an elementary school, and Stephen was a doctor in the ER of the nearby hospital.

Kim was cooking dinner tonight—spaghetti, Teri's favorite—and tomorrow the three of them would spend the day playing and laughing together. Stephen had to work, but Jack and Kim had planned to take Teri to the zoo to see the new penguin exhibit and her favorite animals.

The morning had barely begun, and already the day seemed endless. Jack resisted the urge to glance at the clock yet again, and forced himself to focus on the open laptop in front of him. His fingers flew over the keyboard as his eyes darted back and forth between the computer screen and the manila folders that were scattered across the desk in front of him. This was what CTU did during quiet times, the times when civilians lived in blissful ignorance and happily went about their daily lives without looking over their shoulders in fear. Inevitably, there would be another crisis, but for now there was only calmness and mundane day-to-day bureaucratic paperwork.


	2. Chapter 2

_Only 1 review so far. :( I've noticed that this story has gotten quite a few hits so far, though, so could you please leave a review if you read? I really do appreciate your comments and insight. Thanks!  
These next several chapters are going to cover a touchy topic; I apologize. This plot idea wouldn't leave me alone for some reason, though, so I just decided to go with it. Hope you enjoy, despite the gruesomeness._

Chapter 2

Jessica normally enjoyed her Drama class, but today she couldn't concentrate. Glancing around the room, she saw that props were stacked on the stage and script books were opened and highlighted, but students' eyes were focused more on the open windows than the open books. This was the first day with gentle breezes and bright warm sunshine instead of the gloomy gray skies of the past few weeks.

"It's too nice to be stuck inside," a petite brunette named Haley Martin spoke up from her spot sprawled on the floor. Other students agreed with groans and sighs.

"I wish we could get out of class. I'm bored already." Matt Anderson, captain of the football team and typical "jock", tossed his script aside. "Nobody's going to be able to concentrate today. Fresh air and freedom, versus boredom and a closed-in building full of weird smells." The students chuckled and nodded.

"Oh, come on. You're not _that_ bored, are you?" Mrs. Scott entered the room, her wild red hair billowing behind her. "I thought you liked this play. We voted, remember?"

"The play's fine. But it's Friday, and it's the first nice day we've had in ages," Haley sighed, pushing herself up to a sitting position. "Maybe there'll be a fire drill."

"An earthquake," one of the boys suggested. "Or a monsoon."

"A plague of locusts." Laughter rippled through the room.

"Or a terrorist attack!" Matt grinned. More laughter and rolling eyes.

"Sadly possible, but highly unlikely," Mrs. Scott told him, smiling wryly. "I think the only 'terrorist attack' you'll be seeing is a mutiny from your fellow students if they have to suffer through a horrible play. So let's get to work and do our best to make sure that doesn't happen. We'll pick up our read-through where we left off yesterday, page six. Today's pages are six through twelve. Those of you who have lines in these scenes, I hope you've at least tried to begin learning them."

There was a rustling of paper as scripts were picked up and the correct number of pages turned. With a nod from Mrs. Scott, the first student began to read.

Halfway through page nine, an earsplitting, cacophonous buzz erupted from the red speaker mounted high on the wall. Yelps of surprise went unheard; scripts landed hastily and unceremoniously on the floor as hands flew up to protect ears from the assault.

"I guess you got your wish, Haley," Matt shouted over the nearly deafening noise. She laughed.

"All right, everybody." Mrs. Scott also had to shout to be heard. "Apparently there was a fire drill planned for today that I didn't know about. You know what to do. Line up and let's get out of here." They joined the few other students and teachers that occupied the fine arts wing of the building during this class period, and shuffled down the hallway.

As they approached a corner, Mrs. Scott stopped. "What the...?" Then they all heard it, despite the incessantly blaring fire alarm: a crescendo of screams and pounding feet, steadily growing louder.

"That can't be good," Matt said uneasily.

Two students flew past him, eyes wide with terror, looking as though they were fleeing some sort of horrific monster. In an instant, the hallway before them filled with a steadily growing flood of students, all frantically stampeding towards an exit.

Cautiously, Mrs. Scott stepped forward and peered down the hallway. The next sound that echoed off of the tile and concrete made them all flinch. "Was that... a _gunshot?"_ a girl's voice demanded.

Mrs. Scott shook her head, absently pushing a wayward strand of red hair out of her face. "There are balloons on some of the lockers, for birthdays and for some of the athletes. Somebody probably just stepped on one and popped it."

More sharp cracks split the air, clearly audible even over the fire alarm. Matt felt the blood drain from his face as Haley said what everyone knew. "Those are gunshots."

The gunshots were different now, a steady chattering sound instead of staccato pops. Matt recoiled in horror and shock. _That sounds like an assault rifle!_

The screams intensified and students scattered in panic, veering in several different directions, running frantically for whatever cover they could find.

Years of post-Columbine lockdown drills told them to take cover in locked classrooms, and many dove frantically behind the nearest doors. The rest were carried through the hallways, caught up in the momentum of students running blindly in panic.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Chloe sprang up from behind her desk so abruptly that she knocked her chair over. Agents across the floor turned to glance curiously in her direction as the wheeled chair flew backwards and tipped over onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"I just picked up a report from LAPD. They received a call reporting shots fired at a school." A satellite image displaying the school and surrounding streets appeared on the wall monitor at the front of the room. "It's a combined middle and high school, roughly a thousand students. The fire alarm was pulled, and firefighters are en route to respond. LAPD just received a 911 call from a student in the school begging them to send help, saying that someone is apparently on the loose with a gun inside the school."

Murmurs rippled through the room, and several faces blanched. Jack's heart pounded. _High school... not Kim. Thank God, not Kim._

William McDonnell, senior agent and the head of field ops, cleared his throat. "Every police officer who can possibly get anywhere near that school is going to be swarming it after a call like that. They have no way of knowing what kind of weapons the shooter has, if there are multiple shooters, if they are still in the building, anything. It could be an angry student, or it could be an insane terrorist. I think we need to send at least one TAC team. I know it's not really protocol, but there _is_ really no standard protocol for situations like this."

Chloe nodded. "Agreed."

Jack's cell phone chirped. _Text from RENEE WALKER,_ the display read.

He snatched it up and quickly read the message. _"911 call intercept from LAPD – gunman at local HS. I'm part of FBI CIRG and am going w/a team. I'm sure CTU got same message we did. You coming w/ TAC team?"_

Without hesitation, he wrote back simply, _"Yes."_

TBC...

_A/N: CIRG is the FBI's "Critical Incident Response Group". Branches within it are the CNU (Crisis Negotiation Unit), CMU (Crisis Management Unit), and RDLU (Rapid Deployment Logistics Unit.) These branches handle hostage situations, kidnappings, prison riots, international incidents, and disaster relief and emergency response to crises (like 9/11). They also handle large-scale school crises like Columbine and Virginia Tech._


	3. Chapter 3

My dad (a former police officer) helped with some information on weapons and tactics, but the students' experiences in this story come directly from my own experiences.

In October 2006, we actually had a student bring a gun into our school, and I narrowly escaped becoming one of his victims. He fired several rounds in the hallways (didn't hit anyone, but came close), and then went back outside and stood on the street in front of the school with his gun, waving it at the cars driving by. Police were able to talk him down after striking him in the leg and foot. The last I heard, he was in a residential counseling program of some sort, doing excellently in the school he was attending, and would be graduating from the program soon.

The rest of the student info here comes from the Active Shooter training drills that I've been a volunteer "victim" for three years in a row now. After the incidents at Columbine and Virginia Tech, standard police training now includes what is called Active Shooter Training. One or more officers pose as a gunman, and teams of officers run through different response scenarios (with AirSoft paint guns) at local schools. Students are usually enlisted to portray dead bodies, injured victims, and panicked hysterical screaming people. It's a gruesome topic, but it is valuable and important training for the officers, an eye-opening experience for us, and surprisingly fun.

Here's chapter 3. As I said before, the stats counter for this story shows that people are reading, but hardly anyone has reviewed. If you are reading, could you please take the time to leave a review? I appreciate ALL reviews and comments!

* * *

Chapter 3

Twitching a hand to brush a strand of dark blond hair out of her face was as much as Nicole Wilson dared to move. Somehow, the gunman _(or gunmen, _she thought, shuddering with new fear, for it was entirely possible that another armed maniac lurked somewhere outside the door) had bypassed the girls' bathroom on this floor, never knowing that she was huddled inside.

She had been curled in this corner for so long that her legs were beginning to go numb, but she didn't dare move. As the panicked crowd had carried her down the hallway, without really thinking about it, she had opened the bathroom door and dove inside to huddle out of sight on the floor. As the gunshots and running feet continued outside the door, she pressed herself as far into a corner as possible. If she didn't move, didn't breathe too loudly, didn't cry or speak, maybe she would be safe.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and the black barrel of a rifle appeared in the doorway. Nicole screamed, the sound echoing off the tiled walls and floor. _No!_ She bit her lip and curled into a tighter ball, trying to conceal her bright green t-shirt from view. _Hide_..._be invisible_..._don't make another sound!_

Four sets of footsteps moved briskly across the floor. _Four?_ _Oh, my God, it's an army!_ Nicole trembled. The footsteps were heading straight towards her hiding spot. _God, no!_ She lifted her head, choking on a sob as she saw that the sleek rifle was aimed directly at her.

"Come out here and let us see your hands," a commanding voice ordered, yelling to be heard over the still-blaring fire alarm.

Nearly blinded by the tears in her eyes and the black spots that loomed at the edges of her field of vision, Nicole crawled out from her small hiding spot. "Please," she cried.

A hand firmly grasped her upper arm and lifted her to her feet. "It's all right. We're not going to hurt you."

"Wh-what?" Nicole forced herself to meet the gaze of the man holding her arm. Now she saw that all four of them were dressed in black Kevlar armor, holding menacing-looking weapons...and that "POLICE" was emblazoned in bright white on the chests of their vests. "Oh," she cried. Two of the men caught her between them, holding her upright as her legs gave out. "I-I thought..." She shook her head, trembling, fighting the wracking sobs that threatened to overtake her.

One of the men bent his head close to her ear to talk without yelling, allowing her to see his face. "What's your name?"

"Nicole," she whispered.

"Okay, Nicole. We're the good guys. Help is here now."

"He…they...someone's still out there," Nicole choked.

"There are police, SWAT, and TAC teams coming in," the second man told her. He used his gloved thumb to wipe away some of the tears that were still falling down her cheeks. "Come on, let's get you out of here." As much as Nicole wanted to follow him, her trembling legs refused to cooperate. "Okay. We've got you." The man held her upright as easily as if she were a toddler, balancing most of her weight.

The first officer angled Nicole's head so that she was staring sideways, directly at his Kevlar vest. "Keep your eyes focused right here. Hold on to us, and we'll get you out of here." She nodded mutely.

"You don't need to see anything here," the second man said quietly, his tone grim. "You just keep your eyes on us." His unspoken message made her tremble, and Nicole fought back nausea and another wave of tears as she focused on placing one foot in front of the other.

Another group of armored and armed officers was huddled just outside the door leading outside into the sunlight. Her four rescuers gently handed Nicole over to them and disappeared back into the building, leaving two of these new officers to escort her to safety.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack counted five ambulances lined up across the street from the school and shook his head. Unless they were incredibly lucky, that wouldn't be enough.

The school parking lot was overflowing with police cars and tactical trucks, abandoned wherever the officers had been able to find space. Police officers and SWAT agents, clad heavily in Kevlar and gripping pistols and tactical assault rifles, swarmed over the grass and sidewalks as they hurried towards the building.

Jack scanned the crowd and, as his gaze landed on the black FBI CIRG response van, immediately spotted Renee Walker standing next to the front passenger door. He had never seen her wear anything other than a standard dark blue FBI field uniform and Kevlar vest when they had been in the field. Now she was wearing full body armor and stuffing her vest with ammunition magazines for the Beretta 9mm pistol holstered at her hip.

Renee glanced up as Jack strode towards her. "You want an AR or a pistol?" she asked in greeting, opening the rear door of the van to show him an array of weapons. Jack showed her the 9mm SigSauer that he was already carrying, but selected an AR-15 and slung it over his shoulder. The slightest hint of a smile flickered briefly on Renee's face. She produced her PDA and quickly brought up a map of the school's layout. "There are two police tactical teams already inside, combing the third floor, and more are headed in behind them. I say we go in this side door over here, check out the second floor, and work our way down." Jack nodded. "Let's go."

The fire alarm was still blaring inside the building, making the glass doors vibrate with the noise. The harsh, deafening sound instantly assaulted their ears, but neither Jack nor Renee flinched.

Open locker doors, dropped books, and papers scattered across the floor signaled that this had not been a normal calm exit.

Panicked students were still trickling out of the building, stumbling as they ran as fast as their legs would carry them. Jack grabbed the arm of a boy streaking past him. "Who's shooting?" he demanded. "Where did they go?" The boy shook his head, speechless. Wide-eyed with terror and intent on escaping, he wrenched free. Jack watched him run crazily out the open door into the sunlight.

As Jack and Renee moved further inside the building, it gradually became more evident what had taken place. Splatters and smears of blood dotted the floor and walls, and a fading trail of bloody footprints led towards one of the closed classroom doors. Several lockers were dented from being grazed or struck with bullets.

Renee knelt to examine one of the countless spent shell casings that were rolling across the floor beneath her shoes. "Jack, look at this. This is a casing from an M4 carbine. Our shooter doesn't have the standard pistol-and-shotgun weapon combo. He's carrying an M4."

Jack shook his head, speechless, biting back the bile rising in his throat.

A classroom door slowly creaked open. Jack pivoted, bringing the AR-15 up and brushing his finger against the trigger. A young female teacher fell to her knees, trembling, hands raised and eyes wide. Behind her, students huddled in the shadows, staring and frozen with fear. Jack lowered the rifle and motioned them out into the hallway. "Run. Don't look back, and don't stop running until you hit an exit and a team of officers!"

Without looking back to see if they obeyed his directions, Jack motioned Renee forward and down the stairs. They rounded a corner, weapons at the ready, and suddenly found themselves in the middle of a maniac's vengeful bloodbath. Crumpled broken bodies littered the floor amidst ever-growing, trickling streams and pools of crimson red blood.

"Oh, my God," Renee murmured. Jack said nothing as the muscles in his jaw clenched.

Seeing the large, bold yellow "FBI" letters emblazoned across the back of Renee's jacket, several of the victims apparently felt safe enough to move. A ponytailed teenage girl, the stomach of her pink blouse covered with a spreading red stain, reached out and caught Renee's ankle with her fingers. "Please," she whispered hoarsely. "Help...me..."

As much as instinct told her to linger and comfort the victims, sense and protocol dictated that she wasn't to stop moving until the shooter was no longer a threat. "Medics will be here soon," Renee said kindly. "They'll come to help you as soon as they can."

Jack crouched next to her. "Did you see the gunman?" he asked. The girl moved her head in a feeble yes-no-maybe motion. "Which way did he go?"

"Not here..." With effort, she lifted a trembling hand to point down the hallway towards the stairs. "Up...or down. I don't...know."

"All right." Jack got to his feet. "We'll find him. Let's go, Renee."

They continued on, stepping over discarded books and papers, smears of blood, and shoes that frantic fleeing students had simply run straight out of.

As more tactical teams flooded into the building, fleeing students and injured victims directed them through a twisting maze of hallways. Radios crackled with position reports on officers and victims, and updates on information about the shooter.

After what felt like an eternity, the radio channel came alive with what sounded like exhausted triumph. "All teams, I'm at the end of a hallway in the northeast corner of the third floor. Three deceased victims here, two students and an adult male, likely a teacher or staff. I've got a backpack filled with ammunition for a Beretta nine-millimeter pistol and an M4 carbine. Both weapons are here, in the midst of the victims. It looks like we have one neutralized hostile, and no knowledge of any others."

As soon as it had begun, the immediate threat was over.

"Copy that," another voice responded. "Let's bring in the EOD team to make sure there aren't any big surprises waiting for us, and send EMT's in behind them to begin canvassing the building and treating victims."

_TBC_

_A/N: EOD is the Explosive Ordinance Disposal team (AKA the bomb squad), a team of specially trained FBI agents. There are also military EOD teams who defuse explosives in combat situations (ie. Iraq)._


	4. Chapter 4

Yay, new readers and reviewers! Yes, **BlueEyes**, I was (and am) REALLY TICKED at Renee's senseless death, so I decided to do something about that. :) LOVED the scenes of Jack and Renee together in combat, and I wish we could have seen more. They were a great team!

Thank you for the reviews! I really do appreciate them. I like knowing my readers' opinions on scenes, characters, etc. So, (shameless begging here) please keep reviewing!

Here's some more for you.

Chapter 4

Jack hadn't thought it was possible, but it seemed as though the chaos had actually increased over the past half hour. Trembling, terrified students and teachers had been found hiding throughout the school, and were gradually being escorted outside by tactical teams.

The EOD squad had determined that there were no bombs or booby traps in the building—a surprise, Jack thought grimly, considering that the shooter had seemed very well prepared. As the steady exit of students and some tactical officers continued, EMT's began canvassing the building to locate, assess, and evacuate victims.

Dozens of students had cuts and bruises from the rapid mass exodus, many were hyperventilating and hysterical, and almost all were in shock. First priority, however, were the shooting victims. They lay sprawled in hallways, classrooms, and bathrooms, creating a chaotic and seemingly random winding trail of the shooter's movements.

Jack grabbed one of the neon orange field medical bags and strode purposefully towards the building with Renee right behind him.

An EMT headed into the building held out a hand to stop them. "Sir, you can't go in there. You're not — "

"I'm CTU, she's FBI, we were just inside with the TAC teams," Jack said curtly, pushing past him. "We've both had field medical training, and you need all the extra help you can get in there." The man looked as though he wanted to say something else, but shrugged and stepped aside.

Another EMT standing inside the doorway handed Jack a Sharpie marker and a roll of neon yellow tape. "Anyone who needs to be moved, injured or deceased, gets a number. Write it on their hand, foot, forehead, wherever. Write the same number on a piece of tape and leave it in their place, so we can figure out who was where later." Jack and Renee nodded in understanding.

The students who could move had crawled or dragged themselves over to those who couldn't. Belts, socks, t-shirts, and sweatshirts became makeshift tourniquets and bandages. Crimson red blood stained school logos, designer labels, and plain fabric alike.

Renee and Jack joined the dozens of EMT's moving through the building, offering aid to whomever they could. The teams worked like a MASH unit, doing rapid triage, simply trying to keep students alive and relatively stable until more medical personnel and transport could arrive.

Their pants and shirts were streaked with blood and grime from kneeling on the floors and holding victims, shoes left bloody footprints, and hands were covered in red blood that was quickly turning to a reddish-brown copper as it dried. No one cared.

-o-o-o-o-o-

By the time a medic found folding chairs for Jack and Renee and pressed water bottles into their hands, they had lost all sense of time. Both protested, but the man took their bags and firmly insisted that they sit. "Patients are en route to the hospitals, slowly but surely. Our work, for now, is wrapping up. Now it's the forensics teams' turn to deal with this mess." He shook his head.

Jack's cell phone rang. "Bauer," he answered, fishing the phone from his pocket.

"Jack, it's Chloe. How are things there? I-I mean," she faltered, "obviously they're not good, since this is terrible." Her voice trailed off.

"Ambulances are en route to the hospitals, and forensics teams are on their way in here to begin collecting and analyzing evidence," Jack told her. "There's a command post of sorts set up, and they're working on IDing victims and notifying parents." He didn't envy whoever had that job. "This is a massive crime scene. Every footprint, every shell casing, every shard of glass…. Forensics has their hands full." He shook his head.

Renee reappeared from somewhere, holding a handful of papers. Jack put the phone on speaker and held it out towards her. "What've you got?"

"Preliminary injury reports. It's bad." Renee's tone was grim. "Chloe, our shooter didn't just have the standard modified-pistol-and-rifle weapon combo. In addition to the Beretta pistol, he had an M4 carbine." They heard Chloe's sharp intake of breath.

"A student reported hearing what sounded like multiple-shot bursts of assault-rifle fire, and he was right. The M4 was firing three-shot bursts. In several places, it looks like he just strafed the hallway with a wild spray of bullets." Renee leafed through the pages. "Close quarters, hundreds of kids, and wildly flying bullets….there's going to be a lot of injuries. When those bullets come from a high-powered assault weapon, the injuries are even more massive and damaging." Her jaw clenched. "I don't think I need to give you any specific examples. The reports are here if you want to read them."

"The only thing I want to know right now is who the shooter is," Jack said wearily. "All we know is that the weapons were found along with two students and a teacher. Which one of them was the shooter? And how the _hell_ did they get a hold of an M4? That's not a civilian weapon. So it was either stolen—but from where?—or secured in some sort of black-market deal."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I want to talk with some of the victims at the hospital as soon as possible. And I want to see the forensics reports. Hopefully they'll give us some answers and not just more questions."

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

I'm having fun planning and writing this fic, so I'm happy that you're enjoying. Thanks a ton for the reviews! Glad to see that some of you are guessing and speculating. :)

I loved the scenes with Jack and Renee in combat that we got to see on the show, and am sad that we didn't get to see more. They made a great team! (Audrey was pretty impressive in her few weapon-handling scenes; the AK-47 at the terror compund, and with Jack at Felsted before Tony saved the day. She was comfortable with the weapons, but you can tell that Renee was much more comfortable with the SITUATION as well as the weapons.)

We've seen Jack in a few field medical situations, and all field agents get some medical training, so I could see him and Renee lending a hand in a trauma scene of that size. I like the idea of Medic!Jack.

Here's some more for you! Some fun, cute fluff in the middle of the chaos. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5

The next morning came far too soon for Jack's liking. He had sat around the conference table for hours with other agents, laptops, folders, and reports, working late into the night.

Chloe met him in the doorway as he gathered an armful of files and moved towards an empty workstation. "You look horrible," she said bluntly.

He didn't let on how horrible he felt. The little sleep he had gotten had been filled with nightmares, grisly images of the day's events. "I'm fine." Maneuvering around her, he deposited the stack of files on the desk.

Chloe stepped into his path again. "You don't look fine. And you're not supposed to be here today anyway; you had the day off."

Jack gave her a disbelieving look. "Yeah, well, there was a change in plans. Did someone order me to take a temporary leave after what happened yesterday?"

Chloe said nothing. Jack rolled his eyes.

"You were going to spend the day with Kim and Teri. You really should do that. It took a long time for you to patch things up with Kim, and — " Chloe stopped abruptly. "Anyway, we have Renee's and your debrief from yesterday, data that Renee got from CIRG and the responding police teams, and preliminary forensics reports. We can manage."

He sighed. "Fine." Satisfied, Chloe turned back to her computer.

Shaking his head, Jack rummaged for his cell phone and dialed, holding it to his ear as he walked towards the door again. Kim answered on the second ring. "Hi, Dad."

Teri's voice piped up gleefully in the background. "Hi, Grandpa Jack!"

The exhaustion and frustration lifted temporarily. Jack smiled as he made his way across the parking lot. "Hi, sweetheart. Listen, I'm —"

"Don't worry about the zoo," Kim interrupted quickly. "We can go another day. You probably have a lot to do, with what happened yesterday."

"We do," Jack told her, suddenly feeling weary again, "but that's why I called. Chloe's given me the day off. Believe me, I was surprised too," he said dryly, hearing Kim's surprised sound. "I'm almost positive that somebody's put me on temporary leave... Anyway, it means that I'll be able to go with you to the zoo today."

He thought he heard her mumble something about the government typically not appreciating him, but when Kim spoke again, her voice was cheerful. "That's great! Teri's so excited. I hadn't told her yet that you weren't coming. So, we'll see you in a little while?"

"I'm on my way." He smiled. "I hope you saved some spaghetti for me to eat tonight."

Kim laughed. "We had tacos last night, and saved making the spaghetti for when you could come over again. So we'll have it tonight."

Jack heard an excited, "Yay!" from Teri in the background and chuckled. "I'll be there soon."

His car had barely come to a stop in the driveway when Jack saw the front door of Kim and Stephen's small house fly open and Teri come racing down the sidewalk. Jack met her as she reached the driveway and swept her into his arms, making her squeal with laughter.

Kim followed, holding a pair of pink sandals, and only then did Jack notice that Teri was barefoot. "You were so excited that you ran out of the house without your shoes, silly," Kim told her, holding out the sandals. She took the stuffed polar bear that Teri was holding. "Here, I'll hold Rufus while you put them on." Jack remembered his visit to New York's Central Park zoo with Teri; she had told him that she would have liked to take the zoo's new polar bear cub home with her. As a compromise, Jack had bought her a stuffed polar bear from the gift shop.

"Is Rufus going to the zoo with us today?" Jack asked his granddaughter.

Teri gave him a look that plainly said she thought her grandfather was being silly. "Of course he is. He wants to see the other polar bears. They're his friends."

"Are you sure he wants to go to the zoo?" Jack asked, winking at Kim. "Maybe he'd rather go to the library or the playground instead." Teri shook her head, smiling the adorable dimpled smile that made Jack's heart melt a little more each time he saw it.

"I packed a cooler with some snacks," Kim told him, "and we can get a wagon or a stroller at the zoo if she gets tired of walking around – although I think you'll probably wind up carrying her." She knew Jack didn't mind in the least.

Jack smiled at his granddaughter, who was bouncing with excitement. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was sunny and warm, a perfect day for walking outdoors. Teri skipped happily along the paths from one exhibit to another, one hand clinging to Rufus and the other tucked snugly into Jack's. She loved walking with Grandpa, and he loved the feeling of her small hand wrapped tightly around his larger one as she skipped and hopped next to him. Kim followed, taking pictures of the animals, Teri, and Jack.

They moved from one exhibit to the next, admiring the variety of exotic animals. Teri liked the bears and penguins the most, while Kim's favorites were the tropical birds, and Jack found the lions and tigers fascinating. They all laughed at the playful antics of the monkeys (although none of them were fond of the smell of the primate house) and eagerly gazed at the brightly colored fish in the aquarium. Kim and Teri both steered clear of the snake and insect exhibits.

"I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. My stomach is growling," Kim spoke up as they made their way back to the car that evening. Worn out from the long day of walking, Teri was perched happily on her grandfather's shoulders. "What do you say we go home and cook our spaghetti for dinner?"

As Kim and Jack got to work in the kitchen, Teri curled up on the couch to watch her favorite cartoons. Over the clatter of pots and pans, they heard her frustrated complaint. "This show is boring! Where's my cartoon?"

They both turned to look at the TV, and saw that regular programming had been replaced by news broadcasts about the previous day's school shooting.

Kim hurried into the room and grabbed the remote, clicking off the TV. "You don't want to watch a grown-up show. Let's put on one of your videos."

Teri agreed, and soon the kitchen sounds mingled with children's program noises and her laughter.

Kim glanced over her shoulder at Jack as she rummaged in a cabinet. "Do you know anything new about what happened yesterday?"

He shook his head. "Forensics technicians are combing every inch of the school, collecting evidence. _What_ happened is obvious; it's the _why_ that we want to figure out. Over the next few days, I'm going to go to the hospitals and try to talk with more of the injured students."

Kim bit her lip. "Good luck."

_A/N #2: We know how much the government likes to mess with Jack. They ignore/dislike/arrest him when he wants to help, and rudely yank him back in when he doesn't but they need him anyway... (Police officers are given temporary leaves if their response to a call involves a death; a little while to recover from the psychological trauma of taking a life.) Considering how illogical they are, I figured that this made sense. Plus it gave Jack some cute family time. :)_


	6. Chapter 6

Apologies for the delay in updates! I've been hanging out with friends and family a lot lately, and haven't really had time to sit down at the computer. Thanks so much for all the **AWESOME** reviews! I don't think I've ever had my work described as "epic" before. :)

Hooray for some new readers and reviewers! Welcome to the musings of my crazy mind; hope you enjoy!

At the beginning of the school scenes, I mentioned that all of those things were taken from my own experiences, and several of your reviews mentioned that you enjoyed the realism. Glad to hear it! In addition to school chaos and military tactics, I've also spent quite a bit of time in hospitals and know a lot about medical things. I work a lot of that into my stories.

Anyway, here's the next chapter. Back to work for Jack and Renee...

* * *

Chapter 6

Renee inspected her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail. Only then did she notice that she had fastened the top three buttons of her blouse incorrectly, leaving the fabric uneven and awkwardly bunched. Sighing, she reached to correct the mistake.

As she lined up the first button, her gaze fell on the two ugly raised scars on her upper chest – lingering reminders of the sniper's bullets that had almost taken her life. Her hands stilled, abandoning the buttons, as she stared into the mirror at the jagged scars.

She remembered the terror and searing pain as the bullets tore into her chest, the struggle to breathe as her lungs filled with blood, and Jack begging her to hang on. When she opened her eyes again two days later, she was in a sterile white hospital room with Jack by her side. Recovery had been slow and painful, filled with painkillers and bandage changes, as the deep wounds healed and gave way to jagged ugly scars.

When she was stable enough to travel, Renee had made the decision to leave memories behind in New York and join Jack in Los Angeles with his family. With new determination, she had walked into the FBI field office in Los Angeles and picked up the badge that she had laid down and walked away from once, that Brian Hastings had offered, and that she had turned down again. Maybe it was crazy, but Renee didn't care.

And now here she was, drawn into another hellish, chaotic mess – this one involving innocent students, many of whom were probably experiencing the same pain that she had felt that day…. How many of them would come out of this with scars like hers?

_Enough. Stop._ Shaking her head, Renee quickly fastened the remaining two buttons and exited the bathroom.

The FBI CIRG had tasked her as their liaison with CTU, assigning her there for as long as necessary. Jack met her as she sat down at the desk that she had temporarily claimed. "I got the list of hospitals and injured victims. Looks like they're divided between three hospitals. Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, USC University Hospital, and CHMC. They've all been identified, and families have been notified."

Renee took the folder that he was holding. "What's the casualty count so far?" She dreaded the answer.

Jack hesitated. "Nineteen dead, including three teachers, and twenty-five injured, including two teachers. There are several in critical condition, so those numbers could still change."

"My God." Renee felt sick. "It's like another Columbine or Virginia Tech." Jack nodded grimly.

"There are ten students at Cedars-Sinai," Jack told her. "USC has eight, and CHMC has five and the two teachers." He handed her a list of names. "The FBI and police have already interviewed some of them, and Chloe's handling that info."

Renee shook her head. "There's a massive amount of ground to cover and people to talk to. How are we dividing this up?"

Jack peered over her shoulder at the list. "You and I can go to Cedars, and let FBI and police handle USC and CHMC. If anything comes up in their reports, someone will check it out."

"Fine," Renee said simply, getting to her feet and handing the folder back to him.

"Hey." Jack laid a hand on her shoulder, waiting until she turned to face him. "How are you doing? You okay?"

She shrugged. "As good as I can be with something like this. No better or worse than you."

Jack nodded, letting the matter drop. Renee had to run for several steps to catch up with him as he strode purposefully across the bullpen. She caught up and fell into step next to him as they made their way down the hallway. Jack nodded to the security guards and held the door open for Renee. "I'll drive; you hold that," he said over his shoulder, rummaging for the car keys. Renee took the folder from him and slid into the passenger seat.

The drive to the hospital was made in silence.

The nurse behind the information desk in the large lobby glanced up as they approached. "Are you here to visit someone?" Renee nodded. "Name?"

"Several people, actually," Jack told her. The woman's brow furrowed slightly. Jack held out his badge, and Renee slid her jacket aside to display hers clipped to her belt. "I'm with the Counter-Terrorism Unit, and she's with the FBI. We're investigating Friday's shooting and need to talk with some of your patients." He slid the list of names across the desk. "Can you tell us where they are?"

"I'll check the computer and give you a list of room numbers." She pushed a clipboard across the desk. "Sign in here. What are your names?"

"My name is Jack Bauer," he told her, writing down the date and their names on the clipboard page, "and this is Renee Walker."

The nurse quickly filled out two printed visitor tags and handed them to Renee. "Put these where they can be seen clearly. Just a minute, and I'll have that list for you." Her fingers clicked rapidly over the keyboard. The printer behind the desk whirred to life, and the nurse collected two pages and handed them over to Jack. "There you go." She looked back at the computer again, and Jack and Renee headed for the elevators.

Renee consulted the list of names and the hospital directory on the wall. "There are three students in the ICU, four in post-surgical recovery, one in neuro rehab, and two in what looks like a General Medicine unit." She hesitated. "We don't know anything about their conditions. Let's try the General Medicine unit first."

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

Yay, new readers and reviewers! Hi, **paladin24** and **ilive4jeans**. Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to leave reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

Here's the next chapter for my lovely readers. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 7

Haley shifted slightly in the hospital bed, feeling the starched sheets wrinkle underneath her as she tried to find a comfortable position. But there was no comfortable position when your arm was encased in plaster, one side of your face was swathed in bandages, and everything hurt. The painkillers that dripped through her IV line left her floating in a foggy haze. In the length of time between when they began to wear off and when the next dose was administered, however, instead of blissful oblivion there was only painful truth.

The right side of her head and face was covered in gauze and tape, and her long dark hair was shaved to the scalp above it. Her nose had obviously been broken, and the white of her left eye was blood-red around the bright blue pupil. Black _Frankenstein_-esque sutures ran in jagged lines down the right side of her face, small glimpses peeking out here and there beneath the bandages. The breathing tube in her throat had been removed, but adhesive from the tape used to secure it still clung to her face in some spots. She was lucky, the doctors told her solemnly. The bullet that had struck her cheek could have entered higher and killed or paralyzed her. Instead, it had left her with broken bones, facial injuries, and what would later become scars. The deep graze wound and broken wrist on her right arm would heal with time.

Her parents and the nurses tried to shield her. They carefully arranged bandages to cover her face, re-folded newspapers to conceal the headlines, and skillfully changed the subject or the TV channel whenever The Incident was being discussed. But Haley knew.

It was impossible to avoid seeing her face in the mirror, no matter how quickly she looked away. She caught glimpses of headlines and photos from newspapers carried under people's arms or briefly placed on tables, quickly changed the TV channel to one of the news stations in those brief moments when no one was in the room, and heard the quiet conversations of the medical staff outside her room. She knew that, when she had last heard, ten people had been killed and twelve injured. She had no idea if that number was higher now, and no idea who the people were. No one she asked would mention names.

Her mother, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs across the room, glanced up. "Are you okay, honey? Can I get you anything?"

Haley shook her head. "I'm fine. Thanks, Mom."

"I think I'm going to go to the Family Resource room and use one of the computers, okay? Will you be all right by yourself for a while?"

She nodded. "Fine."

"Okay." Her mother smiled. "I'll be back in a little while." Haley watched her go, pulling the door closed as she left the room.

There was a quiet knock at the door. She frowned. Her parents didn't knock; they just hovered and drifted in and out. The nurses' knocks were more like polite taps to announce their entrance than knocks asking permission to enter. No students had ventured in yet. Who could this be?

Curiosity won out over shame at her appearance. "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal two people who she had never seen before. The woman had red hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, and she wore jeans, a pale blue blouse, and a black jacket. The man's dark blond hair was cropped short in a military-style haircut and he wore black jeans, a gray t-shirt, and what appeared to be combat boots. Haley spotted a badge clipped to the woman's belt and a gun holstered at the man's hip. They weren't wearing police uniforms; were they undercover officers of some sort?

"Are you Haley?" the man asked, in a curt voice that was not unkind. She nodded. "Can we talk with you about what happened on Friday?"

She licked her chapped lips. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled slightly. "I'm Agent Renee Walker with the FBI, and this is Agent Jack Bauer from the Counter-Terrorism Unit."

"Terrorism. You mean, they think that...what happened...was because of a _terrorist?"_

Agent Walker pulled one of the two uncomfortable chairs alongside the bed and sat down, placing a folder on the bedside table. "When you hear the word _terrorist_, you probably think of something like Al-Qaeda. The truth is that whoever brought that weapon into your school, whether it was a student or an unknown hostile, is considered a terrorist. They committed an act of terror. Make sense?"

"Yes." Her voice was raspy, her mouth dry. Haley swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat.

Agent Walker reached for the plastic pitcher of water on the table and filled a Styrofoam cup. "Here." Haley sat up to reach for the cup, gasping in pain as she did. "Whoa, easy. I'll bring it to you. Jack, can you...?"

Agent Bauer gently eased her back down and adjusted the pillow under her arm. Once she was settled again, Agent Walker brought the cup closer and held the straw to her lips. She drank gratefully, letting the cool water soothe her throat. "Thank you."

They nodded. "We need to ask you some questions," Agent Bauer spoke up, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the bed. "Police and forensics teams are working on the case, but since you and the other students were witnesses, we need to talk to you as well. All right?" Haley nodded. He glanced at the bandages and stitching covering her face. "Can you remember anything about what happened?"

"I think so. I mean, I don't have amnesia or anything."

His lips twitched in a smile. "Good."

Agent Walker gently touched her shoulder. "I want you to tell us anything you can remember. Any information you can give us will help."

"Do you remember where you were when the shooting started?"

"I was in the Drama room. We were supposed to be learning lines for our play, but everyone was distracted by how nice it was outside. I joked that maybe there would be a fire drill, and a few other people suggested some other stuff – a tornado, locusts, just silly things." She saw Agent Walker smile slightly. "Then the fire alarm went off, and we all left like we're supposed to. When we were in the hallway, we heard a bunch of people running and screaming, and then we heard the gunshots." Her voice trailed off.

"What happened next?" Agent Bauer asked.

"We ran. Everybody ran. They say you're supposed to get in a room and lock the door, and a lot of people did. We didn't know where the shots were coming from, so we didn't know where to go. So most of us ran down the hallways, looking for an exit or a place to hide." Haley bit her lip. "The gunshots were so loud, and it seemed like the bullets were just flying everywhere."

Agent Walker pulled a photo from the folder and held it out. It was a picture of a sleek, ominous-looking rifle and what looked, to Haley, like a massive bullet. "This is the rifle that the shooter used. It's an assault rifle. He had it set to fire 'bursts', so when he pulled the trigger, it fired three shots instead of just one. Does that sound like what you heard?" She nodded.

Agent Bauer was writing notes on a pad of paper. "Several people's injuries came from ricocheting bullets. Did you ever see the shooter?"

"Yes." She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I tripped and fell, and a few people tripped over me. And then, before I could get up again, he was there." Haley blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. "I looked at him. His eyes were so scary, dark and angry." She closed her eyes, choking out the next words. "He looked straight at me, stared at me...and then I heard the gun go off. I don't remember anything else. When I opened my eyes again, I was here."

Agent Walker held out a box of tissues, and Haley gratefully wiped her eyes. Was it her imagination, or did Agent Walker have tears in her eyes?

Agent Bauer seemed to be gripping his pen tighter now as he wrote. "Do you remember what the shooter looked like?"

"It was a man —"

"A man?" Agent Walker interrupted. "You mean an adult, not a student?" Haley nodded. Agent Walker frowned. "Go on."

"I've seen him before. I don't know him, but I've seen him around school."

"Is he a teacher?" Agent Bauer asked sharply. "Or just someone who comes, like a parent?"

Haley shook her head. "No, he's a teacher. I've never talked to him and I don't know his name. I think he teaches one of the science classes."

"Can you describe him?" Agent Walker urged. "What does he look like?"

She closed her eyes to picture him. "Tall. His hair is thick and black, kind of long. He has dark skin and an accent, maybe Middle-Eastern."

Agent Bauer quickly flipped through the papers in the folder, looked at one, dropped it, and pulled out another. "Is this him?"

Just seeing his face again made her tremble. "Yes, that's him."

The two agents looked stunned.

Agent Bauer pulled a cell phone from his pocket and glanced around the room. "I don't think I can use this in here... I'll be right back." The words were barely out of his mouth before he was out the door and into the hallway.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Before Jack had the chance to dial a number, his phone rang."Jack, it's Chloe. I've been trying to call you, but I guess your phone doesn't work in there. I got a report from the FBI forensics teams. Gunpowder residue tests on the three victims by the backpack came back negative. None of them ever fired a gun."

"Are you saying the shooter is still out there?" he demanded.

"No, thank God. He left the backpack there to throw us off and get us to focus on those three victims. Police found him in one of the classrooms, and initially thought he was another victim. He didn't die from a gunshot wound, though; he apparently committed suicide with a cyanide capsule. The forensics team just gave me his ID."

Jack cradled the phone against his shoulder. "That's why I was calling you. I'm debriefing one of the students, and she gave me a positive ID. Who is he?"

"His name is David Ahmad; he's one of the high school science teachers. His family is from Kuwait; he was born here and is an American citizen," Chloe reported.

Jack frowned. "Interesting. Kuwait is an American ally."

"Yes, it is. But he's not Kuwaiti, and his name isn't David Ahmad. He was born and raised in Iraq, and his name is Mahmoud al-Qasim." Chloe's tone was grim. "It looks like he's a sleeper agent for a radical terror group that calls itself _Ansar Inshallah, _or Followers of the Will of God."

"Son of a... Sleeper agents?" Jack's mind raced with images of the Araz family, Habib Marwan, and the wave of attacks that Marwan's sleeper cells had coordinated. Using a teacher as a sleeper agent was a brilliant plan, and also an incredibly terrifying one.

Chloe sighed. "I've been going through his computer files for about an hour now. I found what looks like the typical fundamentalist terrorist's manifesto, ranting about America's filth and disgrace."

"But why a school? Why shoot and kill innocent kids?"

"He claimed that they are the 'future of corrupt America', that our society is brainwashing them and they're blinded by our ideals, and that this was a way to rid the world of evil corruption." Chloe sounded disgusted. "He had a lot to say, but that's the basic idea."

Jack could only shake his head, at a loss for words. "Well, thanks for the update." He ran a hand through his hair. "Renee and I still have debriefs to finish here; I'll be back as soon as I can." He ended the call, replaced the phone in his pocket, and walked back into Haley's room.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As Agent Bauer came back into the room, Haley saw that his jaw was clenched and he looked shaken. "What did Chloe have to say?" Agent Walker asked. He shook his head, glancing sideways at Haley. She nodded in understanding. "Later, then."

Agent Bauer sat down in his chair again. "Do you mind if we keep going for a little while longer and see if you can remember anything else?"

"Okay. I-I don't know how much I'll be able to help, but I'll try."

"You've been a great help already." Agent Walker smiled. "Thank you."

Haley looked up. "Agent Bauer..."

"Call me Jack," he told her. "And Agent Walker is Renee."

"Okay...Jack... Can _you_ tell _me_ some things? I remember what happened, I know there was a shooting. But no one will tell me anything about the other students." She swallowed hard. "Do you know how many people died? How many were hurt? Are they okay?"

The agents exchanged glances. Jack hesitated. "Nineteen people were killed, including the shooter. Sixteen students and three teachers. And twenty-five were injured, twenty-three students and two teachers."

The monitor next to the bed captured Haley's shocked reaction as her heart rate jumped. "Oh, my God." She squeezed her eyes shut as the words landed like blows, leaving her breathless. "No. Oh, no." As she opened her eyes, fighting back the tears, her gaze landed on the folder on the table. "You know, don't you? Who are they?"

"I don't think..." Renee began doubtfully.

Haley shook her head. "Everyone's trying to keep it a secret. Please," she pleaded. "I want to know. I _need_ to know." The two agents looked at each other again. "Word is going to get out eventually. They can't keep it from me forever. Please, just tell me."

Jack and Renee were still looking at each other. Finally, Jack nodded. "All right," Renee relented. She flipped through the folder until she found what she was looking for, and handed over two pieces of paper. Haley took them, suddenly trembling, and hesitated before lowering her gaze to read the lists of names.

Somewhat absently, she thought about how she could play "Six Degrees of Separation" with almost all of them; when and where she had crossed paths with them before everything fell apart.

Her gaze skimmed over the list of injured victims first, reading each name and the brief description of their injuries that had been typed or penciled in. The words made her shudder. _How could something like this happen?_ Teenagers were supposed to get bruises and broken bones from sports injuries or clumsiness, not horrible injuries from a madman with a gun.

She read the list of deceased victims next, praying that she would not find what she feared most. Her friends were not there; they merely had cuts and bruises...

_Courtney Miller._

_Jake Harris._

_Harper Lewis._

Haley froze. _Three of them_... Her heart was pounding so hard that the fabric of her hospital gown twitched. She pressed her lips together to stop their trembling, and swallowed as her throat constricted.

Jack gently touched her shoulder.

"No!" Haley doubled over and buried her head in her hands, half sobbing and half screaming. _"No!"_

"Oh, sweetheart." Renee sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm so sorry."

"It's...n-not...f-f-fair." She could barely get the words out between chattering teeth and shuddering breaths.

"I know." Renee slid an arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

Haley collapsed against her, trembling so hard that her teeth chattered. A high-pitched, keening wail of utter grief and pain tore from her throat, giving way to wracking sobs.

Not knowing what else to do, Renee held her, rocking back and forth, gently rubbing her back, as her chest heaved with sobs so violent that they left her coughing, gagging, and breathless. "Okay," Renee soothed. "Shh, shh. It's okay."

Gradually, Haley's sobbing gave way to sniffles and quiet whimpers. Renee watched as the girl's body slowly relaxed and she drifted off to sleep, all energy spent.

Slowly, carefully, she eased the sleeping wounded girl out of her lap and down onto the bed. She gently fluffed the pillows and tucked the starched, crisp hospital sheets around Haley's limp form.

Feeling drained and exhausted, she ran a hand wearily over her face as she glanced up at Jack. "We have four debriefs left to cover. Let's go."

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

That evening, after an exhausting and emotional day of hospital debriefs, Jack joined the rest of CTU's agents in the conference room for a briefing.

Chloe was seated in the director's chair at the head of the table with her laptop. "All right, here's the situation." The large wall-mounted monitor behind her lit up with several images. "Friday morning, a gunman opened fire at a local middle and high school, killing sixteen students and three teachers, and injuring twenty-three students and two teachers. Two weapons were recovered, a Beretta 9mm pistol and an M4 carbine assault rifle. Instead of the typical angry student, our shooter in this case was a teacher." The agents exchanged glances.

A photo appeared on the screen, obviously from a school yearbook, of a middle-aged Middle Eastern man with thick black hair, a short beard, and glasses. He was looking directly at the camera with a friendly smile. "This is David Ahmad, one of two high school chemistry teachers. He's thirty-five years old. His family is from Kuwait; he was born here and is an American citizen."

The yearbook picture was replaced by a second, slightly grainy photo. "This is Mahmoud al-Qasim, also known as David Ahmad. His family isn't from Kuwait; they're from Baghdad, Iraq. He was born and raised in Iraq, and immigrated here nine years ago. He's a sleeper agent for a radical fundamentalist terror group that calls itself _Ansar Inshallah, _or Followers of the Will of God."

"So, after teaching at a school for at least a few years and getting to know the students and staff, he brought a gun in one day and started shooting people?" Arlo Glass spoke up, leaning back in his chair.

"With an M4 assault rifle, no less," Renee said bitterly. "One girl was shot in the cheek and, even after plastic surgery, will have extensive facial scarring. One boy was shot in the head and, if he survives, will spend months in rehab for a traumatic brain injury. Three students are going to need multiple orthopedic surgeries to repair bullet wounds to their arms or legs. Four are in intensive care, and two of those are facing the possibility of being ventilator-dependent quadriplegics. Two more are paralyzed from the waist down. The rest were left with bullet graze wounds, broken bones, bruises, cuts, and scrapes. All of the students were traumatized and, injured or not, will need help." She shook her head.

Jack looked at the photo of al-Qasim's rifle. "I want to know where he got that M4. Civilians can't own them, and he's not a law enforcement or military member. It was either stolen or secured in some sort of black-market deal. I want somebody, anybody, to find any information you can that will tell us something about where Ansar Inshallah is getting weapons."

"I'm on it," Arlo said instantly. Jack nodded.

"Why a school?" another agent asked. "That's not a typical terrorist target, except for the Beslan massacre in 2004. Why not a big public place like a mall?"

"It's a genius plan," Renee said grimly. "Schools are supposed to be safe places. Using a teacher as a sleeper agent? No one would suspect that. Parents and students will be looking at their teachers under a microscope now, wondering who they _really _are. Paranoia and fear is exactly what terrorists want to see."

"The school was an easy target since al-Qasim was already inside," Chloe added. "And one of terrorists' typical complaints is that our society is corrupting children. This was apparently their idea of one way to solve that problem."

Jack glanced at the jumble of images filling the monitor screen. "What do we know about al-Qasim?"

"I found some journal entries and a video that he recorded," Chloe said. "He refers to himself as _Nasir al-Iqram_, Arabic for 'Defender or Protector of Honor.' It looks like al-Qasim and Ansar Inshallah follow the same line of thinking as a lot of fundamentalist groups."

Jack grimaced. "Do we have anything on their background or ideology?"

Chloe studied her notes. "Ansar Inshallah was founded in Iraq around the time of the Gulf War in 1990, but didn't really expand until recently. Their ideology seems to be revenge- and honor-based, focused more on the honor than the revenge. Some are angry people who want to restore their family honor. 'The West hit us, so now we're going to hit back harder'. The rest are radical fundamentalists who want to restore society's honor. They follow the usual fundamentalist thinking – that America is a corrupt nation and our society's thinking, behavior, and way of life are a disgrace to the rest of the world. Apparently, Ansar Inshallah sees itself as the answer to that problem."

"Did al-Qasim mention any other plans?" Arlo asked.

"Not directly," Chloe answered. "But there's definitely more to come." She looked at her laptop. "I don't know if this is something that he wrote to motivate himself, or if it's a declaration that's going to show up somewhere, but this was in one of his documents."

She read from the screen: _" 'Let it be known that no child of Satan is safe from the hand of Allah. No place is safe – not your big cities, not your small villages. Wherever you are, Ansar Inshallah will be there too. Allah's wrath will not end until America has been once again buried deep in the filth from which she rose. Allahu akbar!' "_

_TBC...  
_


	9. Chapter 9

I see that I have a few new readers and reviewers. Welcome! Thanks for reading and taking the time to leave reviews; I appreciate every single one of them!

Regarding Ansar Inshallah: Ansar Inshallah does not exist; it came from my own crazy thought process. Glad I was so convincing! :) I wouldn't be surprised if there is a group somewhere with that name or something similar, but this one is fictional. I read through some profiles of well-known Islamic extremists, combined that with my knowledge of radical Islam and Shar'ia law, and went from there.

There are groups like it. I just Googled "Ansar al"... and came up with a few specific groups.  
Ansar Allah is a group of militants operating out of Gaza, apparently a branch of Hezbollah.  
Ansar al-Islam is an Iraqi Kurdish militant group that promotes Shar'ia law and follows a radical interpretation of Islam, similar to the Saudi "Wahabi" ideology. Etc etc... sigh.

Anyway, with that, let's get back to the story.

* * *

Chapter 9

Over the next few days, news reports about the shooting gave way to broadcasts of the first funerals. Some were broadcast live for those who couldn't attend, and the rest were covered in the days' evening reports.

The front sidewalk of the school was buried beneath a mountain of flowers, ribbons, cards, mementos, photos, and memorial posters, banners, and signs.

At each funeral, the churches and auditoriums overflowed with students, families, and citizens who came to show support and honor the victims' memories.

Slowly, gradually, a community's healing process began.

.

(Since this chapter is so tiny, I'm posting two chapters at once, so continue on to Chapter 10!)


	10. Chapter 10

To make up for the extreme shortness of Chapter 9, here's a much longer Chapter 10. Things are getting crazy again... :)

Chapter 10

"So, let me get this straight. All we know so far is that this Ansar Inshallah group has sleeper cells planted to carry out an attack. We don't know how many cells. All we know is that someone is probably going to do something bad somewhere at some time?" CTU's District director demanded.

Chloe made a face at the phone. "Like I said, sir, Mahmoud al-Qasim committed suicide after his rampage at the school. Even if he was still alive, I doubt he'd be able to give us any information. Sleeper cells typically don't communicate with one another, only with the person who oversees their operations."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. So what are you doing to prevent further attacks _before_ they happen?"

Chloe sighed. "We're monitoring chatter and communications for specific keywords, and searching for any information on other members of Ansar Inshallah. We've also heightened security in places that seem like probable attack spots. I'll keep you updated if we find something." Before the man could object, she hung up the phone.

Jack arched an eyebrow. "That sounded like it went well." Chloe only grumbled in response.

Whatever else Chloe had intended to say was abruptly interrupted as the door flew open and Renee rushed into the room. "We've got a situation."

"Where?" Chloe demanded.

"Another school," Renee said grimly. "Apparently, nineteen deaths weren't enough. Now they're in a position to kill almost a thousand. The last school was a combined middle and high school, grades seven through twelve, with 1500 students. This is a private high school with nine hundred students."

"Another shooter?" Jack asked, dreading the answer.

Renee shook her head. "No. This time it's a hostage situation. It's safe to assume that they're going to ask for demands, kill those who oppose, and then kill everyone else once they have what they want."

"Ansar Inshallah?"

"We don't know who it is, but I think Ansar Inshallah seems likely," Renee replied. "SWAT and medical personnel are already standing by on scene, and the hostage negotiation team is en route. FBI CIRG is calling for any and all agents to respond."

Chloe got to her feet. "I'll alert William and the TAC teams."

Jack looked at Renee. "I'll meet you in the armory."

-o-o-o-o-o-

For the second time in five days, Jack found himself in a parking lot filled with SWAT and police teams. In addition to the response teams, several news reporters were scattered across the grounds as well.

Jack eyed the clusters of suits, trucks, cameras, and microphones. "If someone inside spots them, they just might decide to take a shot. Get them out of here; somebody set up a perimeter for them to stand behind."

Two police officers immediately headed in that direction.

Renee nodded to one of the SWAT agents. "Renee Walker, FBI. What can you tell us?"

"Matt McLaren." The man looked grim. "Hostiles were inside for at least an hour before the call went out; we've been here for twenty minutes. No one's answered the phones. Video surveillance gave us nothing."

"What do you mean, _nothing?"_ Jack demanded.

"Exactly what I said. Nothing. No view, no movement. They must all be gathered in some interior room away from windows. Fiber optic cameras showed static and empty rooms, and we can't pick up infrared."

Renee shook her head. "How many people inside?"

"Total enrollment is nine hundred students," McLaren told him. "Without attendance sheets, my best guess is around three hundred inside."

"How many hostiles?"

"Best estimate, twelve or thirteen."

"What do they want?" William McDonnell asked over his shoulder as he walked towards the CTU TAC van. "You think this is Ansar Inshallah?"

"We don't know." McLaren shook his head. "They haven't made any demands. We don't have a guess, since we don't know who they are. Could be Ansar Inshallah, or it could be something unrelated."

"Well, for God's sake, if we don't find out soon, we'll be ID'ing them when they come out to drop off bodies," Renee said sharply. "Find something. Anything."

"We could cut the water and electricity; make things uncomfortable in there, and try to draw them out," McLaren suggested.

Renee shook her head. "I don't think that will faze them. It'd be harder on the students than the hostiles."

"How about a food delivery?" one of the TAC agents suggested. "They're going to get hungry eventually. Bring in some food, but lace it with something to calm them down."

"They have vending machines and a cafeteria," McLaren informed him. "They'd suspect something immediately."

Jack studied a large map of the school that was spread across a nearby table. "I'll go in." Three heads turned as three agents stared at him. "Set me up with surveillance gear. I'll find an entry point and run recon inside."

Renee looked as though she wanted to say something, but she remained silent.

"No." William shook his head. "Not you," he added in response to Jack's incredulous look. "It looks like this is our only option. Once we have a takedown plan, I want you on one of the assault teams. Someone else will have to go."

Marcus Quinn, the agent who had suggested the food delivery, was leaning against the rear door of the SWAT truck. "I'll go." He looked at the map and pointed to one of the rooms. "This says that there's a science lab here. There's a door on the far side of the room that leads outside. I can go in there."

No one objected. William nodded. "I'll get you set up with gear."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Quinn adjusted the tiny button-sized camera clipped to the shoulder of his Kevlar vest. "This side of the building may be unguarded. I don't see any hostiles outside."

"Could be very different inside," William warned. "Without infrared or a visual, we're flying blind."

"Understood." Jack, Renee, and William watched the camera feed as Quinn crept around the side of the building. "I don't see any movement. Do we know if there's anyone alive in there?"

"For the sake of about five hundred parents who are watching this on news broadcasts, I hope so," Renee replied grimly.

Stealthily, Quinn opened the door to the silent, deserted science lab and slipped inside. "Still no movement, but people were here," he murmured, turning to display a view of overturned chairs and desks that had been knocked askew. "Looks like a hasty exit."

The sound of a cell phone ringing drifted from outside the room, growing louder as Quinn moved towards the door leading into the hallway. The agents looked at each other uneasily, none daring to say what they were all thinking. When nothing happened, an audible sigh of relief came from Renee and William.

Along with several discarded backpacks and books, the grainy black-and-white image from Quinn's camera showed at least fifty cell phones scattered across the floor. "Looks like the hostiles collected the phones and dropped them here. I think we're getting close." He knelt to silence the ringing phone.

Jack and the others watched silently as Quinn made his way through a set of double doors and continued down the long, empty corridor.

"Down!" Renee ordered suddenly, the volume and sharpness of her tone making both Quinn and Jack flinch. Without questioning, Quinn dropped instantly to the ground. The camera image now displayed a close-up of the patterned tile floor. "You're just to the right of a door," Renee said quietly. "I saw something move inside that room."

Slowly, cautiously, Quinn pushed himself up to peer in the narrow window.

"What the...?" William whispered.

A large, burly man stood directly in front of the door, his back to it. Gripped tightly in his hands was an AK-47 assault rifle, and stenciled across the back of his jacket were three large bright yellow letters: "**FBI**."

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for all the reviews! **Jen**, please don't forget to breathe - I don't want my writing to be the cause of your demise. :) Glad you're enjoying the story, though! Here's another chapter for you.

* * *

Chapter 11

Renee, Jack, and William stared at the monitor display in shock. "What the hell?" was all that Jack could manage.

Renee paled. "They're posing as government agents. My God, if this is another sleeper cell..." She shook her head, speechless.

"Replica gear can be found fairly easily," William pointed out. "For all we know, they got those jackets off of eBay. They may not be real."

"Even if they aren't, they_ look _like they are, and that's good enough," Renee said grimly. "And if they _are_ real... God help us. There's no telling where Ansar Inshallah will show up next."

"Quinn, what are you seeing in there?" Jack asked. "I see four people in the back of the room."

"Make that about twenty," Quinn told him. "Hold on... Twenty-three students and four hostiles in here. Two of the hostiles are wearing FBI jackets; the other two are in Kevlar and black fatigues, and all of them are carrying assault weapons. Too many shadows to see their faces."

William leaned over to study the map. "According to this, that room is next to the library. It's a computer lab or study room." Quinn turned slightly to adjust their view through the narrow window. The camera image of the dimly lit room provided a shadowy view of chairs, a bank of computers, and study carrel desks scattered through the room. "That guy in the far right corner is standing in front of the door that leads into the library. It's a big room, so they're probably keeping most of the kids in there."

As Quinn carefully shifted position on the floor, he suddenly hesitated as a faint sound reached his ears.

"What?" Renee asked tersely.

"I think I heard something." He got to his feet and drew his pistol from its holster, bypassing two doors and pausing in front of the third. Slowly, stealthily, he opened the door and slipped into the classroom.

A scuffling sound came from one corner of the room, and Quinn turned just in time to see a heavy textbook flying towards his head. Reacting instinctively, he shifted his pistol to one hand and grabbed the hand flying towards him with the other, halting it in midair and catching the textbook as it fell.

The petite blond teenage girl froze as she looked at Quinn's hand gripping her arm. The blood drained from her face as she began to sob frantically. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. Please, I didn't... I-I'm so sorry. Please, just don't... please..." she gasped desperately. Trembling violently, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Let her go." The tall, lanky dark-haired boy crouching in the corner behind the girl got to his feet. "Please, don't hurt her."

"I'm not going to hurt either of you." Quinn kept his voice low, shaking his head as he holstered his pistol. "I'm a federal agent."

"Yeah, right," the boy scoffed. _"They _said that, too. 'We're from the FBI, and we're here to talk to you about careers.' You think we're stupid? I'm not falling for that again."

Quinn released the girl's arm. She collapsed into a chair, still crying, as he reached into his pocket. "I'm not lying to you. Here's my badge."

"They have badges, too," the boy informed him. "We thought they were real, but _obviously_ they aren't." He looked disdainfully at Quinn.

"But do _they_ have federal ID?" Quinn asked, holding out his CTU photo ID card. The boy studied it carefully as he slowly shook his head. "Look, if I was one of them, I would have either taken you hostage or killed you by now. I haven't." The two students seemed to be warily considering this. "I swear to you, I am a federal agent."

He crouched down next to the girl as her sobs slowly quieted. "What's your name?"

She took several shuddering breaths. "Alyssa. And that's Mark."

Quinn looked at the two frightened students. "I want you to follow me outside. There are FBI and CTU teams outside at different points around the building, out of view of the hostiles. They'll keep you safe. Follow me and do exactly as I say, all right?" Mark and Alyssa nodded mutely. "Okay. Let's go."

The trio crept through the deserted hallways, pressing themselves against walls and keeping to the shadows. Alyssa and Mark huddled together behind Quinn, wide-eyed, following so closely that they stepped on his shoes.

"In here," Quinn whispered, opening the door to the science lab. Without a word, the two students picked their way between overturned chairs and jumbled desks and followed him across the room to the outer door. "There are agents waiting in the parking lot, just around this corner. They know you're with me. When I say go, I want you to run. I'll be right behind you. Don't look back, just go. Got it?" They nodded.

"Okay." Quinn stood still for a few seconds, listening, before quickly pulling the door open and motioning the students forward. "Go!"

Mark and Alyssa hesitated for the briefest of moments before bolting forward. Quinn slipped through the doorway, carefully and quietly pulled the door closed behind him, and rushed after them. He caught up in seconds, placing a steadying hand on Alyssa's arm as she stumbled. The trio pounded down the sidewalk, rounding the corner of the building and rushing towards the parking lot.

Alyssa stopped short, stumbling again as she spotted the tactical trucks and Kevlar-clad agents. In the next instant Quinn was behind her, gently pushing her forward. "It's okay," he whispered, moving forward and pulling her with him for a few strides. "Just keep going."

Jack and Renee met them as Alyssa and Mark's feet hit the parking lot pavement and Quinn guided them towards the waiting agents. "We made it. You can stop here." The two frightened students sagged with relief, slumping against the black paneled side of the CTU tactical van.

Renee placed a hand on Alyssa's shoulder and looked back and forth between her and Mark. "My name is Renee, or you can call me Agent Walker if you'd like. This is Agent Jack Bauer. I'm from the FBI, and he works with the Counter-Terrorism Unit. These are all CTU, FBI, and SWAT agents. Real ones," she added dryly. "I promise." She guided them to the rear of the van, where several folding chairs sat in a semicircle around a table covered in papers and equipment. "Have a seat."

Jack appeared around the side of the van with two bottles of water, which the students gratefully took, and sat down in one of the chairs opposite them. "You told Agent Quinn that _'they' _have badges and told you they're from the FBI. Who are _they? _Can you tell us anything about what's going on in there?"

Alyssa spoke first. "You heard what Mark said about them dressing like FBI agents. We were told that they were here for a special assembly to talk to us about working with the FBI, so they gathered all of us in the gym."

"'All of us', meaning who?" Renee asked.

"The juniors and seniors," Mark replied. "The freshmen and sophomores are gone. Freshmen are on a field trip, and sophomores are taking some sort of standardized test. They sure picked a good day for it," he added dryly.

"After they got you into the gym, what happened?"

Alyssa spoke up again. "There were four of them standing at the front of the room, and they all were wearing FBI jackets. When we were all sitting down, they talked to us for a few minutes, just making casual small talk. They had a PowerPoint with facts and information about FBI history and some of the different jobs. I guess they got it from the FBI website or a book or something, since they definitely don't work for the FBI." She took a small sip from her water bottle. "After that, one of the men told us that they were going to show us something. They told us all to move to the right side of the room and line up against the wall."

Renee and Jack exchanged glances. "What happened then?" Renee prompted gently.

Alyssa bit her lip. "There was this loud bang. Two of them were standing in the middle of the room, holding their guns in the air. They shot at the ceiling a few times, and everybody started screaming. They yelled at us to be quiet and not move. Then, a minute or two later, a whole lot more of them ran into the room. They pushed us out of the gym and took us upstairs to the second floor, where the library is. It took a while to do that since there were so many of us, but we were all scared of them, so we tried to move fast and do what they said."

"How many do you think there are?" Jack asked.

"Twelve or thirteen," Mark answered. "Six or seven of them have FBI jackets, and the rest are wearing all black."

"I counted twenty-three people in the study room next to the library," Quinn said. "Do you know where everyone else is?"

"About half of them are in the library, and the ones who couldn't fit there are in the study lab," Alyssa told him. She looked at the map spread across the table and placed her finger on the outline of a large room at the opposite end of the corridor from the library. "The rest are in here, I think. It's our multi-purpose room, a big open room with some tables and chairs." She glanced at Mark; he nodded.

"They finally got us split up into three groups, with four of them watching each group. Then they started trying to move us where they wanted. It was total chaos. I grabbed Alyssa, and we ran. They didn't see us, so we hid in that classroom where you found us." Mark nodded towards Quinn.

Renee could see that anxiety, fear, and the likely remnants of an adrenaline rush were quickly taking their toll on the two frightened students. "We're going to have you stay right here with us, okay? You'll be safe." They looked immensely relieved.

Alyssa glanced back over her shoulder at the school building. "What about everyone else?"

Jack met her gaze. "That's why we're all here. Police, SWAT, CTU, FBI, hostage negotiators; we brought everyone that we possibly could. We're going to do our absolute best to keep them safe. I promise."

Quinn walked around the side of the tactical truck with Renee, Jack, and William following. "What's our plan? I should be able to get inside the same way I did before."

Renee glanced at the map and placed her finger on the outline of a tiny space to the right of the library. "This is what I was just about to tell you before you met up with them," she said, nodding towards Alyssa and Mark. "Here's a closet next to the library; it's a storage closet and book drop. It's small, but there should be enough room for you to get inside. There's a door on the left side connecting it to the library."

William produced a small black case from the compartment in the rear of the truck and handed it to Quinn. "There's a fiber-optic camera cable in here. It's tiny and thin enough that it won't be seen. Feed it under the closet door, and we'll have a clear view of what's going on inside that library." Quinn nodded.

William pulled a second case from the compartment drawer. "Jack, I want you to go in with him this time. There are two rooms to check, the library and that multi-purpose room, and he can't be in two places at once. We need another pair of eyes in there. And once we have a takedown plan, you and Quinn will already be in position with your weapons when the assault teams come in."

Jack took the camera case and looked at the map. "Assuming that the classrooms on either side of the multi-purpose room are empty, I'll be able to get in position there." William nodded.

Quinn motioned for Jack to follow him. "Okay, then. Let's go."

_TBC_


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the slight delay in updates! Life is a little crazy right now – school stress and teacher crap REALLY sucks. Anyway, here's a new chapter for you! Enjoy! Things are getting interesting again...

* * *

Chapter 12

To Quinn, the hallways seemed even more exposed than they had before. The only sound was that of two muted sets of footsteps as he and Jack moved stealthily towards the library and the multi-purpose room, eyes scanning their surroundings and weapons at the ready.

As they stepped through the set of double doors and into the long hallway leading to the library, Quinn tapped Jack's arm and pointed to the left. Craning his neck, Jack spotted the large door at the end of the hallway that led to the multi-purpose room. He turned to the left as Quinn went to the right to take his position next to the library.

Quinn dropped to a crouch, keeping low to the ground as he passed the library door. He tested the doorknob on the tiny storage closet, relieved to find it unlocked. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light in the interior of the room, he saw that the walls were lined with shelves piled high with books and office supplies, and a large book-return box sat directly under the slot in the door. There was just barely enough room for him to navigate around the huge wooden box without bumping it or the wall.

Slowly, carefully, he edged first one leg and then the other around it, trying desperately not to make a sound. Once on the other side of the box, he quickly and quietly closed the door behind him and knelt on the floor to open the fiber-optic camera case. "I'm in."

"Copy," William acknowledged. "Get that camera feed up so we can see what's going on in there."

Keeping his body pressed against the wall, Jack craned his neck to peer into each of the rooms on either side of the multi-purpose room. The lights were out in both, but Jack was able to see that both rooms were empty and silent. "No hostiles here," he whispered. "I'm clear."

"Please be careful," Renee replied.

Nodding, Jack cautiously opened the nearest door and slipped inside. Immediately, he noticed that the room only had three regular walls. The fourth, adjacent to the multi-purpose room, was an accordion folding partition that could be opened or closed to separate or combine the two rooms. "Dammit," he muttered.

"What?" Renee and William demanded in unison.

"There's an accordion wall." Jack kept his voice low, barely moving his lips. "I'll be able to feed the cable in, but it also increases the risk that they'll hear me in here."

William cursed under his breath. "Well, other than knocking on the door and asking politely to come in and look around, there really isn't another option," he said dryly. Quinn chuckled softly. "Move carefully," William cautioned.

Jack knelt on the tile floor and opened the camera case. Crouching next to the folding wall, he slowly and carefully eased the thin, flexible fiber-optic cable through the small gap between the wall and floor. The tiny video monitor displayed a screen full of static for several long seconds before flickering to life with a split-screen of Jack and Quinn's camera feeds.

"Bingo," Quinn said quietly. "Let's see what we've got here."

The tables and chairs in the library had been shoved together off to one side of the room, and small groups of terrified students were huddled on the nubby gray carpet. A heap of backpacks and purses was haphazardly piled on two of the tables closest to the door. Most of the nearly one hundred and fifty students' and teachers' eyes were fixed on the four ominous figures hovering over them.

Two were dressed in black military fatigues, their faces concealed beneath black balaclavas, as one of them stood unmoving in front of the main library door and the other leaned against the side door leading to the study lab. Both of them gripped AK-47 assault rifles. The remaining two moved wordlessly through the room, their rifles casually aimed at the terrified students and teachers. Their blue jeans and neat navy blue FBI jackets contrasted sharply with the AK-47's that they carried and the hostages huddled at their feet.

"There's an ironic picture for you," Renee muttered. "This parking lot is swarming with _real_ agents wearing those exact same jackets and carrying the same badges." William nodded silently in agreement.

Jack's camera feed displayed an identical scene in the multi-purpose room. One hundred and twenty students and teachers sat or knelt on the worn carpet, closely guarded by four armed terrorists. Just like in the library, there were two in fatigues and two in FBI jackets. All four of their rifles were pointed directly at the silent, frightened hostages.

Outside in the parking lot, William and Renee silently watched the video feed. "Wait," Renee said suddenly. She leaned over William's shoulder to peer closely at the monitor. "The man in front of the library door. What does he have in his hand?"

William paled as he studied the image. "That's a detonator cord."

"And it's not connected to a suicide vest." Quinn's tone was grim. Long wires trailed up the wall, ending at a small black rectangle perched above the door. "That's a duct-taped block of explosives." He carefully moved the fiber-optic cable to pan the camera slightly, showing several more blocks positioned in the rafters around the room. "Looks like their wires are connected to that thicker black cable running along the floor, and Mr. FBI Numero Uno by the door is holding the detonator."

"That's not all," Jack said quietly. "We have an even bigger problem in here. The duct-taped explosives and cables are the same, but the detonator is different. Two of the hostiles at opposite ends of the room are standing on mats, and the wires are running to some sort of metal plate underneath them."

"It's a pressure detonator," Renee said grimly. "They have to know that assault teams will come in eventually. They've set it up so that if they get taken down and fall off of the mats, the detonators will trigger and set off the explosives."

For several long moments, all of the agents stared at the monitors, stunned into silence.

"Holy shit," Quinn muttered.

William breathed a harsh, mirthless laugh. "That sums it up." He ran a hand wearily over his face. "We've got a major problem."

_Dun-dun-DUNNN... TBC!_


	13. Chapter 13

Hooray, a few new readers and reviewers! Thank you all (new and "old" readers) for taking the time to read and to leave reviews! I appreciate your comments and feedback.

Here's a new chapter for you!

* * *

Chapter 13

Agent McLaren crossed his arms. "Well, what are we supposed to do now?"

"One of my men got the number for the library phone and tried calling in to see what the terrorists want. As an answer, they unplugged the phone and threw it across the room behind a table," one of the Hostage Rescue Team members reported.

Renee shook her head. "Based on what we found, they don't want anything from us. They don't intend to negotiate. They planned this to be a suicide mission."

As the agents watched the camera feeds, a girl in the library leaned over to whisper something to the teacher sitting next to her.

"Hey!" one of the fatigue-and-ski-mask-clad men barked. For one horrifying moment, Renee thought the man was actually going to shoot the trembling girl. Instead, he jabbed her hard in the back with the butt of his rifle, making her cry out in pain and surprise as she tumbled forward onto the floor with an audible thump. "Quiet!"

She sat up slowly, blinking back tears as she cupped her hands over her face. Satisfied, the man stepped over her and retreated to his position against the wall.

McLaren looked back and forth between the HRT agent, the video monitor, and Renee.

"There are three hundred innocent students and teachers being held hostage inside that building by terrorists who've apparently wired it with explosives. We just had nineteen funerals, Agent Walker, and I sure as hell don't intend to have three hundred more. So we'd better come up with a plan."

_TBC_


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Sorry for the slight delay in updates! The past few weeks at school were absolutely insane; TONS of work to do. Midterms are coming up, and I'm thinking things will get crazy again then, but for now I have a little break. So here's a new chapter for you! Thanks for being patient, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 14

"Quinn, Jack, how are you doing in there?" William asked. "You okay?" Two affirmative responses crackled over the comms network. "Good. How are things looking?"

After a few seconds, Jack's carefully whispered reply came. "No change. Hostages are quiet; hostiles haven't moved. The explosives are still armed," he added grimly.

"My guys are moving," Quinn said suddenly. There was a long, tense pause. "Well, they just gave us a big clue to their identity."

William and Renee glanced at the monitor screens as the four men in the library lined up on one side of the room, knelt, and bowed forward, touching their foreheads to the floor. Their words were too faint for the camera audio to pick up, but the meaning of their motions was obvious and familiar. "They're praying," William observed. "Muslim daily prayer."

"So they may not be Ansar Inshallah—although I think it's highly likely that they are—but they're definitely Muslim extremists," Renee said. William nodded.

As the terrorists prayed, the hostages watched them with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

In the multi-purpose room, Jack's camera view showed that two of the hostiles were kneeling in the center of the room, while the other two were carefully kneeling and bowing on top of their mats. "Prayer mat from hell," Quinn muttered. William grunted in agreement.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Three hours had passed.

With every tick of the clock, everyone grew more anxious and on edge.

The parking lot and the streets surrounding the school were filled with police cars and tactical trucks. The negotiation team and HRT agents sat tensely together, carefully watching the video feeds and quietly discussing scenarios. CTU, FBI, and SWAT agents had taken up positions around the building, out of the hostiles' line of sight and fire, and swapped positions and reports with each other every so often.

"Son of a bitch," Jack whispered suddenly. "Oh, God, no!"

Renee jerked to attention instantly. "What is it?"

"Please, no more surprises," one of the SWAT agents said wearily. "What could be worse than what we've already got?" He walked to look over Renee's shoulder at the monitor screen.

"This," Jack bit out.

A small video camera had been propped on a tripod at the front of the room. As the agents watched in horror, one of the terrorists wearing an FBI jacket grabbed a redheaded girl sitting cross-legged on the carpet and roughly hauled her to her feet. She cried out in fear and pain, and the three girls sitting around her shrieked. "Shut up," the man snarled.

The girl stumbled after him, trying to stay on her feet, as he dragged her towards the front of the room. "Sit," he ordered. The terrified girl cried out again as he struck her viciously with the butt of his rifle, bringing her to her knees on the floor in front of the camera.

One of the balaclava-wearing men stepped forward. "What's your name?" he asked in accented English.

"Emily," the girl choked out.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," she whispered.

"Ah, so you will graduate and go to college soon, yes?"

"Yes." She nodded shakily. "In two years. I'm a junior."

The man's posture changed. Apparently, this answer had made him angry. "Corruption," he spat disgustedly. "Foolish ideas." The frightened girl shrank back.

The agents watched as the man paced back and forth, ranting about infidels and disgraceful Western ideals. Finally, he turned to face the camera again.

"Thirty minutes," he snapped. "Half an hour." With that pronouncement, he jabbed a button on the top of the camera. The tiny blinking red light went dark as the camera turned off.

"Thirty minutes until... _what?"_ the SWAT agent behind Renee demanded. "Until he turns that camera back on and executes her?"

Renee ran a hand over her face. "This isn't a negotiation. It's an execution. They're not trying to use her to get anything; they just want to make an example of her."

"Her and how many others?" Jack asked grimly. "If he meant what I think he did, they're going to start executing those kids one by one, every half hour."

William glanced over his shoulder at Alyssa and Mark, who by now were sitting next to a police car, and then at the news reporters milling behind their yellow tape barricade. "We have three hundred terrified families glued to their TV's. The news that their kids are being held hostage is bad enough. If word gets out about this, there will be absolute panic."

"Some people already know," a police officer within earshot informed him. She pointed to a laptop computer sitting in the back of a tactical van. "Remember when Secretary Heller and his daughter were kidnapped several years ago? The terrorists broadcast his so-called _trial_ on the internet for the world to see."

Renee felt a sickening sense of dread. "That's what they're doing here, isn't it?"

The woman nodded. "They've got a streaming feed. One of my officers picked it up just before the camera was turned off. When thirty minutes are up, they'll turn it back on. Sooner or later, someone in the media is going to get a hold of that, and then everyone will know."

Several of the TAC team agents were huddled together around a table, intently studying the large map of the school that was spread before them and tracing their fingers along possibly entry routes.

Renee looked at them, and then at William. "We've got twenty-five minutes."

_TBC..._


	15. Chapter 15

Yikes! I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to post a new chapter for you! I'm dealing with midterms at school (papers, projects, tests, etc.), and semester final exams will be coming up fairly soon too – ugh! I've also been working on a few other writing projects for my upcoming mission travel. (You can check out my travel blog and writing projects at "**hecalledianswered(dot)blogspot(dot)com**". Replace the **(dot)** with . )

Anyway, without any further ado, here is a new chapter for you! Thanks a ton for all the great reviews on the last few chapters, and THANK YOU for your patience!

* * *

Chapter 15

"All right, here's our plan." William looked at the map spread across the table. "The hostages are being held in the library and the study lab next to it, and the multi-purpose room. We'll enter through the science lab here. The hallway is T-shaped. The science lab is at the far end, behind a set of double doors. Through those doors, the library and study lab are at one end and the multi-purpose room is at the other. One team will enter and secure the library, and another will come through the study lab. The third team will clear the multi-purpose room."

He made eye contact with the agents gathered in front of him: police officers, FBI agents, SWAT team members, and CTU TAC agents. "Both rooms are wired with explosives. The library has a single hostile holding a detonator trigger. In the multi-purpose room, two hostiles are standing on pressure detonators. If they get knocked off of their mats, the change in weight and release of pressure will trigger the detonator and set off the explosives. We cannot let that happen. Place your shots carefully." They nodded in grim understanding. "Any questions?" The agents shook their heads.

"Jack and Quinn, are you ready?" Renee asked. "We're heading in."

"We're in position and ready when you are," Quinn told her.

Renee nodded to William.

Agent McLaren glanced at his watch. "We have exactly six minutes before they plan to execute one of the hostages. Are you all ready?" The assembled agents confirmed that they were. "Let's go."

Eighteen law enforcement agents in full body armor, armed with a variety of pistols and assault weapons, was an intimidating sight. As they moved quickly across the parking lot and around the side of the building to the science lab entrance, Renee heard murmurs from the watching news reporters.

In minutes, they were through the door and standing amid the jumble of desks and overturned chairs inside the science lab. "We're dividing up in three teams of six," William said. "Team one, led by me, will enter the library. Team two, led by Agent Daly, will take the study lab. Team three, led by Agent Walker, will take the multi-purpose room. This will be a simultaneous breach. It's absolutely critical that we have the element of surprise. Any delay would give the terrorists time to figure out what's going on and probably detonate their explosives, which would be catastrophic. We go together on my command. Got it?" The teams nodded. "Take your positions."

Renee had traded her Beretta pistol for an AR-15 assault rifle. As she crept stealthily down the hallway towards the multi-purpose room with the five other Kevlar-clad agents, she checked to be sure that the spare magazines were tucked into her vest.

Jack's voice crackled over her comms earpiece. "I'm coming through the door on your left, Renee." The door opened just enough for him to slip through, and he closed it soundlessly behind him before kneeling next to Renee.

"Team three in position," she whispered as the other five agents carefully took up positions on either side of the door.

"Copy that," William replied.

"Teams one and two ready," Agent Dan Daly said quietly several long moments later.

"Copy that, all teams in position. Five seconds."

Renee removed the safety on her rifle and let her finger rest gently on the trigger. She heard the muffled sound of six more weapons around her chambering rounds and being prepared to fire.

"Three...two...one! All teams go," William commanded. "Go, go, go!"

In an instant, Renee was on her feet and bringing the rifle up to fire. Jack pulled the door open and pivoted through the doorway in one smooth movement. Renee charged into the room after him as the other five agents surged around her and burst inside with weapons at the ready.

One hundred and twenty students and teachers scrambled for cover beneath the tables, screaming. More screams and gunshots echoed from down the hallway.

Gunfire erupted in the room. Renee ducked, flinching, as two rounds from an AK-47 slammed into the wall dangerously close to her head. Her vision was focused solely on the terrorists standing on mats at opposite ends of the room.

"_Allahu akbar!"_ the man behind her shouted as he dove towards the floor.

"_No!"_ Renee yelled, pivoting towards him and pulling the trigger twice. The double-tap shots caught the man in the neck and forehead. His face registered surprise for a split second before going blank as his legs folded underneath him and he crumpled onto the mat.

Seconds later, two more shots from Jack's pistol dropped the second terrorist neatly on his mat as well.

That left two. Renee scanned the room, her finger poised on the AR-15's trigger.

A burst of several shots from someone to Renee's left sent the third man sprawling, his AK-47 spraying several rounds wildly into the air before it fell from his limp hand and clattered across the floor.

As Jack turned towards him, the final remaining hostile lifted his weapon and lunged towards Emily with a yell. The terrified girl cried out as she scrambled backwards, desperately seeking escape.

"_Wa'ef!"_ Jack ordered sharply in Arabic, bringing his pistol up and aiming it towards the man. "Stop!" The man's gaze darted from Emily to Jack and the other six agents. An unreadable expression flickered across his face as he slowly lowered his rifle. "Smart choice," Jack told him dryly.

"We're clear," Renee announced as she surveyed the room.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As William's command echoed over the comms network, two more teams of agents reacted simultaneously. The doors to the library and study lab flew open as twelve agents surged into the rooms, eyes and weapons scanning their surroundings. In the next instant, the door on the far left side of the room opened, and Quinn burst from his hiding spot and charged into the library to join the assault.

Screams erupted as one hundred and fifty hostages scattered in panic, desperately seeking cover to hide from these new armed assailants.

Six pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing in front of the main library door, a detonator trigger grasped in his closed fist. Staring boldly back at them, he raised the hand high above his head and brought his thumb towards the trigger button. _"Allahu ak—" _

His triumphant cry was cut short as a burst of gunfire sent him crumpling to the floor. The detonator fell harmlessly from his limp fingers.

Well-placed shots from six assorted pistols and rifles took down two more hostiles within seconds.

A quiet scuffling sound came from behind him, and Quinn turned sharply as a tall, well-built man dragged himself out from under a table. His FBI jacket and the gray carpet beneath him were soaked with blood, and the move obviously required great effort, but the man was undeterred. With surprising speed, he hurled himself across the floor, his steely gaze fixed on the detonator lying a few feet away.

Quinn's foot connected sharply with the man's side, knocking him onto his back with a muffled cry of pain. Before he could move, Quinn brought the butt of his pistol down hard across the back of the man's head, knocking him unconscious.

"We're clear in the library," he reported. "Three hostiles are KIA; one is wounded, but I think he'll make it. Hostages are shaken up, but unhurt."

"All clear in the study lab," Agent Daly spoke up moments later. "Four hostiles KIA, and there are no explosives here. Hostages are unharmed."

"Copy that; all rooms secure. Good work, teams." William sounded satisfied. "These detonators are still armed," he added seriously. "Handle with extreme caution. Let's get the EOD team in here to deal with that, and send HRT in with them to help evacuate the hostages."

_TBC!_


	16. Chapter 16

I've been making excuses about homework a lot lately, and I'm so sorry (AGAIN) for the delay in updates. This semester has had its moments, but for the most part, things have been fairly uneventful. Now, all of a sudden – HOLY CRAP BATMAN! It's midterms time, the semester will be coming to an end soon, and I have papers and projects out the wazoo! UGH! I have had NO time to write lately.

So glad you all enjoyed the most recent chapter! Lots of action, and rescue mission accomplished for Jack, Renee, and Co.! After all the terrorist creepiness, I had fun writing that chapter.

Now let's see what else is in store for them... :)

* * *

Chapter 16

Jack studied the hostages in the multi-purpose room, who looked as terrified of the six agents that had burst into the room as they had been of the terrorists. Suspicion and fear were written plainly across all of their faces.

Emily was huddled in a corner at the front of the room with tears streaming down her cheeks. The camera lay on its side where it had fallen a few feet away, its lens cracked and display screen dark. As Renee held out a hand to the girl, she saw that Emily's wrists were bound tightly behind her back with plastic zip ties.

"Here." One of the police officers handed her a small tactical knife.

Renee took it gratefully and knelt next to the sobbing girl. "It's okay," she said calmly as she quickly broke through the stiff plastic ties and returned the knife to the officer. "We're here to rescue you. You're safe."

The officer boosted Emily to her feet and slid an arm around her shoulder. "Come on, hon. Let's get you out of here." Whether the girl's tears were from relief or pent-up fear, Renee couldn't tell. She cupped Emily's hands in hers and gently rubbed her red, chafed wrists as they walked towards the door.

Two teams of three men in heavy Kevlar armor appeared in the doorways of the library and multi-purpose room. The students and teachers stared nervously at them; the law enforcement agents calmly waved them inside. A mixture of relief and tension was palpable in the air as the bomb squad members carefully assessed the situation and set to work.

Half-leading and half-carrying Emily between them, Renee and the officer guided her outside into the sunlight. The zip ties had been cinched so tightly that they had cut into her wrists, leaving the skin chafed and raw, and her panicked and desperate attempts to break free had only tightened the ties further.

Renee steered her towards the line of ambulances waiting in the parking lot. "Let's see if they have something for your hands."

"We sure do." One of the EMT's, a tall black man with a friendly smile, held out a hand to Emily. "Come here, hon." She sank down into a folding chair, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks. "My name is Brian. What's yours?"

Her voice quivered as she drew in a shuddering breath. "Emily."

"Okay, Miss Emily. Let's see what I can do for you." Brian knelt in front of her with a handful of supplies and took her hands in his. "Ouch," he sympathized, looking at the raw skin as he wiped away a trickle of blood on her right wrist. "I'm going to clean this up a little, and then I have some cream and a cold pack for you." Emily hissed sharply and flinched in pain as Brian dabbed at the wounds, attempting to clean them as gently as possible. "There you go," he said kindly, carefully smoothing cream over the chafed skin and handing her an instant cold pack. "That should do the trick."

The slightest hint of a smile flickered across her face. "Thank you." Brian nodded, returning her smile.

Renee watched as the officer guided Emily across the parking lot to the relative sanctuary of a cluster of police cars and tactical trucks. Satisfied that the girl was safe and comfortable, she turned away and headed back into the building.

A passing SWAT agent caught her arm as she walked towards the library. "All of the hostages need to be interviewed and debriefed, and there are three hundred families waiting for news on their loved ones. Which first?"

"Both," Renee said over her shoulder. "Debriefs are going to take hours, if not days. The families have had enough waiting and anxiety already. Bring them in while we do the debriefs." The officer nodded as he strode away.

The hallways and stairwells were jammed with law enforcement officials working to evacuate the three hundred frightened students and teachers as quickly as possible.

"All teams, listen up." The commanding voice of the HRT team leader echoed over the comms network. "We don't need any more non-law-enforcement people in here right now. The families are waiting across the street. We'll handle the debriefs there. Start moving people in that direction."

-o-o-o-o-o-

The hallway between the library and multi-purpose room was absolute chaos. As Renee maneuvered through the crowd of SWAT team members and FBI agents, Jack appeared from somewhere and fell into step next to her. "Two of CTU's TAC teams are canvassing the building to be sure the terrorists didn't place explosives anywhere else."

Renee stepped around a stack of body bags, ready and waiting, that someone had placed in front of the multi-purpose room door. "What about the hostiles?"

"Ten were killed; two are still alive," Jack replied. "The one who tried to kill Emily is coherent. The other was knocked unconscious by Agent Quinn after trying to grab the detonator trigger in the library. He was shot twice, but is alive."

Before Renee could respond, the door to the library crashed open and one of the EOD agents rushed into the hallway. His gaze landed on Renee. "How many hostages are still in here?"

"None," William replied over the comms network. "They're all across the street, waiting to be debriefed."

"Why?" Jack asked sharply.

"We disarmed the detonator trigger, but there's a cell phone duct-taped to one of the blocks of explosives. It's a secondary initiator."

The faint sound of a cell phone ringing drifted from inside the room. Renee stumbled as the agent abruptly shoved her forward. "Everyone out, _now!"_ he yelled, raising his voice to be heard down the hallway. "You need to move; get as far away from this hallway as possible."

The radio network immediately came alive as his message was quickly relayed.

"Come on." Jack grabbed Renee's arm, nearly jerking her off of her feet, and she stumbled for a few steps before regaining her stride and breaking into a run. They sprinted down the hallway together, racing towards the stairs and an exit.

As the last group of agents reached the relative safety of the stairs, a deafening explosion rang out.

Shouts and screams came from the watching students, teachers, families, and reporters outside as the thunderous blast sent glass and debris raining down onto the parking lot.

Lights overhead flickered and went out, plunging the stairwell into darkness. The force of the blast's concussion sent several people tumbling down the stairs; the rest were able to brace themselves and keep from falling.

Renee gasped as her hand was wrenched painfully from Jack's grip. A flailing arm struck her in the face; a knee jabbed her side. She heard a grunt as her foot landed in the middle of someone's back. The air rushed from her lungs as she hit the floor with a thud, her head striking the step above. Large black spots danced across her field of vision as a knifelike stab of searing pain shot through her head.

She lay still for several long moments, her head throbbing and ears ringing. Gradually, she became aware of Jack's voice faintly calling her name. _"Renee!_ Can you hear me?" His voice became clearer as the ringing diminished, and she craned her neck to see him crouching a few steps above her. As he saw her moving, the expression of relief that flooded across his face was immediate and immense.

William's voice echoed over the comms network. "Is everyone okay in there?"

"We've all got some bumps and bruises, and there's one sprained ankle and a possible broken wrist, but we're all here," one man replied. Renee sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in her head and back. One by one, the agents slowly and carefully extracted themselves from the tangle of sprawling bodies, arms, and legs.

The parking lot outside was littered with glass and debris, and the blast had torn a gaping hole in the building wall. Gritty gray ash and soot covered the wall and pavement. "How bad is it?" one of the SWAT officers asked grimly.

The EOD agent who had attempted to escort Rene and Jack out of the building appeared from somewhere, his heavy Kevlar vest smudged with smoke and ash. "The explosives were powerful enough that they would have killed everyone in the room if the hostages had still been there. The blast was small and localized, though, so structural damage is limited. There'll be some major construction work involved in rebuilding that room and those on either side, but the rest of the building is sound. Firefighters are inside checking everything out. All things considered, it could be a lot worse."

As Renee strode across the parking lot, Jack fell into step next to her. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replied. "Nothing's broken. I'm stiff and sore, but fine."

Jack cupped her chin in his hands, silently studying her face. Renee felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "You have scrapes on your cheek from hitting the step, and your right eye is swollen."

She had a suspicion that the swollen eye would quickly develop into a black eye and large bruise. "I'm fine," she repeated, smiling slightly.

Jack let the matter drop. "The two remaining hostiles are in a first-floor classroom on the other side of the building, waiting to be taken back to CTU for interrogation."

Renee didn't hesitate. "I want to talk to them."

.

_A/N: Hmm, how will THAT turn out? Hope you enjoyed this chapter! TBC soon..._


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: WHEW! I'm finished with two HUGE projects, and winter break and the end of the semester are quickly approaching. Thank goodness! Next week is final exam week, and once that's over, I have almost five weeks of winter break! I hope to get a good amount of writing done then. :) Here's another chapter for you.

I had a few _"What on earth did I just write?"_ moments while writing this one. :) Renee and Jack are in action once again! And this time, they get some answers!

.

Chapter 17

The blast had knocked out power in most of the building, and the emergency lights provided a dim glow that was barely enough to see by. Renee cautiously made her way through the dark, shadowy hallways, following Jack closely.

As she opened the classroom door, she nearly collided with a CTU medic carrying an orange field medical bag. "How is he?" Jack asked, indicating the unconscious FBI-jacket-clad hostile. "I need him alert for questioning."

"He's still unconscious, but..." The man handed Jack a vial of smelling salts. "His wounds aren't critical, but they are serious. He'll need to go into surgery when we get back to CTU, and full recovery will take some time, but he will make it. I was able to stop the bleeding and give him a small dose of pain med. He'll be groggy, but you should be able to question him. My team is outside in the parking lot if you need someone."

"Thank you."

The medic nodded, shouldered his bag, and strode away down the hallway.

Three CTU TAC agents stood in a semi-circle on one side of the room, their gazes fixed on the man dressed in black fatigues that sat stiffly on a chair before them. They had stripped him of his Kevlar vest, which sat neatly on the floor at his feet, but his face was still concealed behind the black balaclava. The second man, still wearing his FBI jacket, lay in a heap on the nubby gray carpet. Shafts of sunlight streaming in the window lit up the dark room and highlighted his injuries, making him look ghastly.

"Stand down," Jack said simply. "You can go check in with William outside." The three men nodded.

As the door closed behind them, Jack crossed the room in a few long strides and stopped directly in front of the balaclava-wearing hostile's chair. "You speak English?" A silent, curt nod. "Let me see your face," Jack said sharply, seizing a handful of the balaclava's fabric and roughly pulling it up to display the man's face.

Long dark golden hair, wild and disheveled from being crammed beneath the balaclava, tumbled onto the hostile's shoulders. Instead of the man that he had expected, Jack found himself staring into the face of a blond-haired woman.

Her lips curved in a wry smile as she took in the shocked and surprised expressions on Jack and Renee's faces. "Ah, you are surprised?" she said lightly in accented English. "Women can be soldiers as well, you know."

"What's your name?" Jack asked sharply.

"Adara," she answered, matching his curt tone.

Renee shook her head. "Your looks could pass you as Iraqi Yazidi, and your Arabic accent is very well done, but there's something else underneath it that you haven't quite been able to hide. Eastern European." The woman's eyes flashed, but she said nothing. "What's your _real _name?" The woman pressed her lips together and deliberately stared at the wall directly behind Renee, still silent.

Jack pulled his PDA from his pocket and snapped a picture of the woman's haughty face and disheveled golden hair. "I'll send it to Chloe for an ID." He nodded towards the unconscious man on the floor. "Check on him."

Renee caught the small vial of smelling salts as Jack tossed it to her, and knelt down in front of the man. Without a word, she opened the vial and held it beneath his nose.

He drew in a deep breath and wrinkled his nose, coughing as he turned his head away from the strong bitter odor. "Wake up," Renee ordered sharply, moving the vial underneath his nose again and not-so-gently tapping his cheek with her free hand.

A quiet groan came from the man's throat as he slowly opened his eyes and blinked blearily. As his eyes gradually focused, he saw Renee kneeling over him, her face only inches from his, and recoiled in surprise and alarm.

"Surprise," Renee said dryly, crossing her arms and leaning back slightly.

"Who are you?" the man demanded.

"Federal agents. Renee Walker, FBI, and this is Jack Bauer from CTU. Who are _you?" _Renee countered.

"Miguel Gutierrez, FBI," he answered. "My badge is in my pocket," he added in response to her derisive snort. "See for yourself."

"You may have a badge, but you're sure as hell not an FBI agent," she shot back. "Real FBI agents typically don't hold three hundred teachers and students hostage in a building wired with explosives, or try to detonate said explosives when assault teams come in."

Renee retrieved the small black folder from the man's jacket pocket and flipped it open to examine the badge. "This is a replica. A very good fake, but still a fake." She tossed the badge onto the carpet.

Despite the painkillers that he had been given by the medic, Miguel grunted in pain as Renee yanked at one sleeve and then the other to strip him of the FBI jacket. "Both the jacket and the badge are replica gear," she said after a few moments. "At least that's one good thing; it means we don't have six sleeper-cell moles in the Bureau."

"So, we've established that you're not a federal agent." Jack met Miguel Gutierrez's bleary, glassy-eyed gaze with a piercing stare of his own. "You're probably not Miguel Gutierrez, either. What's your real name?"

The man was silent. Shaking his head, Jack pulled out his phone and turned his back before dialing a number.

"O'Brian."

"Chloe, it's Jack. I'm sending you photos of two of our hostiles for an ID."

He heard the rapid clicking of Chloe's keyboard in the background. "Got it, Jack. They're running through the database now. I'll call you back when we get something."

Five minutes later, the phone chirped with an incoming call. "Jack, it's Chloe. I have ID's for both of them."

"Who are they?"

Chloe's keyboard clicked. "The woman is Anika Jankovic, twenty-eight years old and from Serbia. She's a mercenary, lately working primarily out of Iraq. No siblings, and her parents apparently died ten years ago." More typing. "The man is Nadir Hashemi. Thirty years old; from Iraq, and immigrated here seven years ago. No information on his family."

"Thanks, Chloe." Jack replaced the phone in his pocket and leaned back against the wall. His gaze landed on Anika, and he stared silently at her for several moments.

_Anika... Nina... _His mind raced, and he struggled to ignore thoughts of Nina Myers, her betrayal, and the two women's similarities.

Anika met his gaze, cocking her head slightly as an amused smirk played on her lips.

The smirk slipped for an instant, giving way to the briefest flash of fear, as Jack crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched directly in front of her chair, his face inches from hers. "Anika Jankovic, age twenty-eight, from Serbia."

The haughty and slightly amused smirk was back. "So you know who I am."

"Yes, I do. You're a mercenary, a hired gun. You don't have a cause; you fight for anything and anyone, as long as they're the highest bidder." Jack shook his head in disgust.

Anika said nothing.

"You didn't do this for the money," Jack continued. "If this mission had succeeded, you would be dead now. What did they ask you? What made you agree to stand on a detonator and give up your life?"

The woman remained silent.

"Who hired you?" Jack asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Anika shook her head and _tsk_ed disapprovingly. "Ah, surely you know better. That, I cannot tell you. Even mercenaries have ethics, Agent Bauer. We don't divulge secrets."

Without a word, Renee unholstered her pistol. Before Jack had time to process what was happening, she lifted her arm, flicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger. A single gunshot echoed through the room as Anika Jankovic's body jerked once, then went limp.

Nadir Hashemi cried out in alarm as a fine spray of blood splattered against his cheek.

Jack swung sharply around to face Renee. "What the hell are you doing?" was all that he could manage as he looked back and forth between Renee and the now-deceased Anika.

"Getting some answers," Renee replied, replacing the pistol in her holster. "She's a hired gun, armed with a weapon and a single mission target. She can't tell you who's behind this." She cocked her head towards Hashemi. "He can."

Jack could only stare at her. _Is this Renee Walker, or Renee Zadan?_

Renee shoved Anika's chair, sending it toppling backwards onto Hashemi. The man yelled in pain and fear, staring wide-eyed at the metal chair and woman's body that now lay across his lap. "Let's try this again," Renee said coolly, kneeling down to look him in the eye. "You aren't Miguel Gutierrez; you're Nadir Hashemi. Who do you work for?"

Hashemi met her gaze. "I work for my God. I am a warrior for Allah."

"Allah is not the one who armed you with FBI gear, an AK-47, and a detonator trigger," Jack shot back. "Who recruited you? Who do you work for?"

Hashemi was silent. Renee nodded towards Anika's lifeless body, her blood mingling with his in a dark crimson pool on the gray carpet. "You'll either live or die; it makes no difference to me," she said. "Talk to us."

Anticipating his answer to that, Jack crouched down to stare into his face. "Let me tell you something. Your mission failed. You're not a _shahid._ If you die here, it won't be considered _istishad_, martyrdom. It will be _intihar_, suicide. Suicide is a sin in Islam. You'll die for nothing, a disgrace to your cause."

Angling his head, Hashemi spat a mouthful of blood in Jack's direction, hitting him as well as Renee.

Wincing at the pain in her badly bruised cheek, Renee swept a hand across her face and wiped away the splattered blood without a word.

Jack retaliated by delivering a harsh blow to Hashemi's jaw, feeling the edge of his ring catch on the man's chin. He grunted in pain as his head jerked back and blood began to trickle from the jagged gash. "You going to try that again?" Jack asked curtly. "Or are you going to talk?" As an answer, the man lifted his head and tried to spit a second time. Jack's second punch sent him sprawling onto the carpet, blood now dripping from his lip as well.

Hashemi looked towards Renee as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, wincing again as her hand brushed against her swollen eye and bruised cheek. "How is your head?" he asked casually.

"Good enough. Yours will look worse if you don't start answering us," Renee shot back in Arabic. Clearly surprised and amused, Hashemi smiled slightly.

Jack arched an eyebrow at Renee before facing Hashemi again. "You heard her," he said in English. "Remember what I told you. If you die here, you will be a disgrace to your cause."

Hashemi drew in a shuddering breath, wincing as he shifted slightly under the weight of the heavy metal chair and Anika's lifeless body. "Please, let me move. As a sign of good faith."

"Until you start talking, the fact that you're still alive is the only _good faith _you're going to get," Jack replied.

This time, instead of spitting, Hashemi tried to headbutt Jack in the stomach.

Jack blocked the move with ease, sending the man sprawling again. "Fine," he said curtly, his face betraying no emotion. "If that's what you choose, we'll do this your way." He nodded towards Anika's body. "I can promise you that your death will not be as quick as hers."

The sudden impact of being knocked to the floor twice, as well as the added weight still lying across him, had caused Hashemi's two gunshot wounds to begin bleeding again. Looking directly into his eyes, Jack pressed his thumb firmly into the wound on the man's side.

Hashemi howled, a primal cry of pain and surprise.

"Who do you work for? Who planned this?"

The man trembled with the pain, his breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps.

Jack pulled his tactical knife from his pocket and flicked it open. "You can either answer me, or I can remove a part of your face." To emphasize, he dragged the edge of the blade along Hashemi's cheek.

"Who's behind this?" The volume and intensity of his tone escalated with each question. "Who sent you here with explosives to kill three hundred innocent students and teachers? Who decided that it was a good idea to film the execution of a seventeen-year-old girl and broadcast it online? Answer me, damn it! _Give me a name!"_

Finally, shuddering and sobbing, Hashemi broke. "Hamad," he choked out. "We were recruited in Iraq by a man named Abdul Hamad."

"Who else?" Renee asked. "He couldn't have done it all on his own. Who arranged for you to come here? Who trained you, who gave you weapons?"

"Hamad worked for a man named Zahir Assef," Hashemi rasped hoarsely after several moments. "I never met him. Hamad was responsible for our recruitment and training. Assef supplied him with weapons and the plans for this mission, and he in turn delivered them to us."

"Where is Assef?" Jack asked sharply.

"I don't know." Hashemi shook his head furiously, eyeing the knife that Jack held in front of his face. "I would tell you if I did. I never met him; I have only heard many things about him."

"Who else is behind him?"

Hashemi shrugged. "He is a powerful man, like Sheik Osama."

"Is he the head of Ansar Inshallah, like Osama bin Laden is to al-Qaeda, or is he just your cell leader?" Renee dreaded the answer.

Hashemi shrugged again. "He is very powerful. He is only one man, but surely you know how many people there are like him. Many people, many organizations."

"Oh, yes," Renee said dryly. "We know."

"If we find Hamad, he can lead us to Assef," Jack remarked. "Is Hamad here in the United States, or does he work from Iraq?"

Hashemi drew in a ragged breath. "He is here."

"Where? Give us an address, job title, something."

"Here in California. Pasadena, I think. He is a pharmacist, and uses the name Jordan."

"Jordan what?" Jack asked.

"That, I don't know. Just Jordan."

Renee took a closer look at the man, noticing his trembling and rapid, shallow breathing and the beads of sweat that covered his face. "I'm going to send the medics back in here to patch you up again."

She knelt to pick up his jacket and badge and Anika's Kevlar vest, and motioned to Jack. "We're going to follow up on Abdul Hamad."

They left the room, Jack letting the door slam behind him, leaving Hashemi alone with Anika Jankovic.

_TBC!__  
_


	18. Chapter 18

FREEDOM! I finished final exams at school this week, and now I have six weeks of winter break. Hopefully I'll be able to get some writing done. I had fun reading all of your comments on the last chapter! Renee and the female mercenary was definitely a "WHOA!" moment, but I'm glad you enjoyed it! The ideas just kept coming yesterday and this morning, so I got a large chunk written. Actually had to break it up into THREE chapters so it wouldn't be a gazillion-word mini-novel. Here's a new chapter with some Jack/Renee cuteness. :-)

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Chapter 18

Three hours later, nearly seven hours after the crisis had begun that morning, Jack and Renee wearily made their way past the security guards at the entrance to CTU's parking garage and walked down the long corridor leading to the main floor.

By the time Jack had finished returning his body armor and field weapons kit to the armory, Renee was nowhere in sight on the main floor. "If you're looking for Agent Walker, she's in Medical," a security guard offered.

"Thank you," Jack said over his shoulder, already heading in that direction. The young man nodded.

Jack found Renee in one of the treatment rooms, sitting on the edge of the bed with a paper cup in one hand and an instant cold pack in the other. "Hey," he said quietly, crossing the small room to sit next to her. "Interesting colors," he added wryly, studying the angry red scrapes and ugly dark bruises on her cheek. "You okay?"

Renee chuckled softly. "It's a black eye and some scrapes, Jack. Looks worse than it is. I've certainly had worse injuries. I can handle it."

"What did they give you?" Jack asked.

"Ibuprofen," Renee answered, deftly tossing the crumpled paper cup into the trash can. "I'll be stiff and sore for a while, but ibuprofen and ice will take care of it. I guess I'll just have to wear some extra makeup," she added. She gingerly held the cold pack against her swollen eye and bruised cheek, flinching at the sudden cold shock. "Ouch."

There was a light tap on the door as it swung open and Chloe stepped into the room. "Renee, when you're finished in here, I'll debrief you and Jack in the conference room." They both nodded.

"Any word on Nadir Hashemi?" Jack asked her.

"He's in surgery now. Dr. Besson said that he's in shock and lost a lot of blood, but thinks he'll make it. A team just delivered him to Medical, and Anika Jankovic to the morgue," Chloe added, raising an eyebrow. Jack could tell that she wanted to ask what had happened, but other than glancing back and forth between him and Renee, she said nothing.

"We'll see what else he can give us once he's stable and coherent, but for now, he did give us a lead," Renee spoke up, turning to face her. "Apparently, the man who was responsible for his recruitment and training in Iraq is here in the United States. His name is Abdul Hamad. Hashemi says that he works as a pharmacist in Pasadena, and uses the alias 'Jordan.' He didn't know the last name, but that's a start."

Chloe nodded. "I'll have Arlo start searching the databases." She turned towards the door. "When you're ready, I'll be in the conference room."

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, as Jack walked across the bullpen, Arlo caught his eye and motioned him over. "What've you got?" Jack asked him.

"Abdul Hamad, also known as Jordan Miles," Arlo replied, sounding triumphant, as he moved aside to allow Jack to see his computer screen. "One of our sketch artists talked with Nadir Hashemi while he was awake between painkiller doses. Before he dozed off again, he gave our guy a description of Hamad. We got a decent picture, and the database matches came up with both his real ID and his alias."

Jack studied the two images; one of a California driver's license, and the other a slightly grainy color photo. Although the man's head was angled, his face was clearly visible, and it was obviously the same person.

"Have you shown this to William? We need to bring him in for questioning."

"William's meeting with his teams now," Chloe informed him as she walked up behind them. "They're in the armory."

Several CTU TAC agents were milling in the armory and locker room, examining armor and weapons. William was calmly studying a sheaf of papers that was spread across a nearby table.

From somewhere deep in his jacket pocket, Jack felt and heard the vibration and ring of his cell phone. As quickly as possible, he maneuvered out of the crowded room and into the quiet hallway, and fished the ringing phone from his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw that it was Kim. "Hi, sweetheart, how are you?"

Kim sounded exhausted. "I'm fine, but Teri's sick." Jack heard a faint pitiful cry in the background, and Kim's muffled voice as she turned away from the phone and whispered something. "The doctor says it's strep throat. Teri's completely miserable, and I don't know what to do."

Jack shifted the phone to his other ear. "Do you need help?"

Kim hesitated. "But you're at work. I don't want to bother you."

"Sweetheart, you're not bothering me. We're busy, but I'm not the only person here. If you need me to come over, I can."

Kim sighed. "Well…. Do you think you could pick up her prescription for me?" she asked. "I really do need to get it filled, but the hospital called Stephen in to work and he won't be home until late tonight. I don't want to have to drag Teri along to the pharmacy, since all she wants to do is lay on the couch, but I can't leave her home alone."

Jack glanced through the open door into the locker room, looking at the agents gathered inside, and suddenly had an idea. "Let me check on something here first, and I'll call you back."

"Great." Kim sounded relieved. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Love you."

Jack replaced the phone in his pocket and walked back into the room. William glanced up as he approached. "How do you want to handle this?" Jack asked him.

William leaned back against the wall. "We have a few different plans in place, but I'm open to suggestions."

"According to Nadir Hashemi, Hamad is a pharmacist somewhere in Pasadena. There's a home address on his driver's license, but do we have a work address?"

"Thanks to Arlo and Chloe, we do." William studied the papers spread across the table. "Here we go. What are you thinking?" he asked.

Jack quickly explained the situation with Kim and Teri. William cocked his head, thinking. "You need a pharmacy, our guy happens to be a pharmacist, and we know where he works. I think we could organize this as a covert mission and kill two birds with one stone. You go in and get your prescription, confirm that Hamad is there, and then we can move in."

"We need someone else to go in," Renee spoke up from across the room. Jack and William both turned to look at her. "Obviously, we can't go in with a TAC team and snatch him up. Why doesn't someone go in with Jack? Once he gets what he needs, the other person can get Hamad's attention and draw him outside to wherever the rest of the team is waiting."

"Sounds good to me." William looked at Renee. "I think you're the best one to do that. Are you okay with going in?"

"Yes, I'll do it."

William nodded, satisfied. "You should probably find some makeup to cover those bruises," he said wryly. Grimacing, she nodded.

Jack looked at Renee and indicated his Kevlar vest and CTU shirt. "I'm going to go change."

When Renee walked back into the room, she was dressed in a simple olive green t-shirt and dark blue jeans. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and the bruises and scrapes on her face were concealed beneath a layer of makeup. As she turned to inspect her reflection, she caught sight of Jack looking at her in the mirror. Renee swung around to face him. "You can't see any of the bruising, can you? Is the makeup okay?" she asked casually.

Jack studied her appearance, smiling, and Renee felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "You look great."

"Thanks. The latest lovely fashions from the CTU women's locker room," she said over her shoulder, hoping that the makeup hid her blushing. She turned back to the mirror and reached for an elastic band to secure her hair.

"No," Jack said quietly. Renee glanced at him, and he cleared his throat. "You should leave it down."

Renee cocked her head, studying him, and smiled slightly. "Okay."

Both of them jumped as William appeared in the doorway. "Are you two ready?"

They hurried to follow him down the hallway to where three other agents waited.

"All right, here's the plan. Jack, you'll go in and take care of what you need to do, and confirm whether Hamad is there or not. Once we know that; Renee, you'll come in and ask whatever questions you need to draw him towards you. I'm going to send Agent Quinn with you as backup, just in case." Marcus Quinn nodded to Renee. "You'll escort Hamad outside as discreetly as possible, and I'll be waiting in the parking lot with agents Carson and Ziegler." William looked at the two TAC agents standing next to him. "We'll take it from there. Renee, I assume you're going with Jack?" She glanced at Jack; he nodded, and William smiled slightly. "Any questions? No? Okay, then, let's head out."

_TBC! Next up: Field mission for Renee and Co.!_


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Yay, reviews! Glad to see that you enjoyed these last few chapters. This will be my last update until sometime after Christmas. Happy holidays to all; have a safe and happy holiday season!

And now, on to Jack and Renee's undercover field mission...

* * *

Chapter 19

"Hopefully, this will be less eventful and exciting than our last little adventure," Quinn said dryly as the two black CTU SUV's pulled into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart store in downtown Pasadena. William chuckled softly.

Renee checked the magazine of her Beretta 9mm, ensured that the gun was loaded and the safety catch was on, and slid it into the holster at her hip. She reached for the denim jacket that was folded on the seat next to her and slipped it on, pulling it into place to cover the badge and gun on her belt. Quinn nodded. "You're covered."

The three of them made their way across the parking lot and through the automatic doors, taking care not to walk too closely together. Renee watched out of the corner of her eye as Jack paused to examine a sign, and then walked briskly towards the pharmacy at the rear of the store. She felt Quinn gently tap her elbow before he moved away and wandered casually down another aisle.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A woman with shoulder-length light brown hair stood behind the pharmacy counter, and she glanced up and smiled at Jack as he approached. "Can I help you, sir?"

Jack returned her smile. "My daughter called in a prescription for my granddaughter and asked me to pick it up for her. Do you know if it's ready yet?" As he methodically answered the questions that she asked, he scanned the rows of shelves behind her, searching for any sign of Abdul Hamad.

"Jordan," the woman called over her shoulder. "Did you fill a script for amoxicillin yet? I have a man here to pick it up."

Footsteps came from the back of the room, and a man wearing a white lab coat appeared from between the rows. "That's the one we just got and I just filled," he said, his words directed at the white metal shelves.

Jack knew that Hamad's alias here was "Jordan Miles", but it was possible that they had more than one employee named Jordan. He kept his eyes on the man's white-coated back, willing him to turn and show his face.

"How old is your granddaughter?" the man asked, making polite conversation. He glanced at Jack as he moved up one row of shelves and down another. Without a doubt, this was Abdul Hamad.

"Four," Jack answered casually, keeping his tone neutral and giving no indication of anything out of the ordinary.

Hamad smiled, keeping his gaze on the rows of bottles, boxes, vials, and packets of medications.

"Amoxicillin; found it," he said suddenly, reaching up to pull a stapled white paper bag from the shelf. He compared the bag's label with the printed slip that the woman had handed him. "Here you go."

Jack took the crinkling paper bag and set it on the counter. "Great. Thanks."

"No problem. Ellen will take care of it for you," Hamad added, nodding towards the woman standing at the counter. "I hope your granddaughter feels better soon," he said over his shoulder, walking towards the back of the room again.

Jack returned his smile. "Me too." He handed Ellen the correct amount to pay for the medication, accepted his change, and waited as she stapled a receipt and an instruction sheet to the bag.

"The dosage instructions are on the bottle as well as this label on the bag," she informed him. "This sheet has information on storage, side effects and warnings."

Jack nodded. "All right. Thank you." He tucked the bag into his jacket pocket and walked away from the pharmacy.

"I have a visual on Hamad," he said quietly, keeping his voice low. "He's working in the back room of the pharmacy, and a woman is at the counter."

"Copy that," William acknowledged. "Renee?" he added.

"On my way," she answered.

Jack glanced at the aisle signs overhead. "I'm going to get some popsicles for Teri. I'll meet you back at the car, Renee."

"Okay." He could hear a smile in her voice.

-o-o-o-o-o-

With Jack's confirmation as her cue to act, Renee replaced the magazine on the rack that she had been browsing through and made her way towards the pharmacy.

As she approached, she saw that the woman behind the counter was occupied with helping an elderly couple. Renee nodded. _Perfect._ Silently, she willed the couple to stay put for a few more minutes.

The woman caught Renee's eye. "It'll be just a minute, ma'am. Someone will be with you shortly." Renee nodded and smiled patiently. "Jordan," the woman called over her shoulder, "can you help this lady while I take care of someone else?"

"Be there in a minute," a man's voice called back from somewhere amidst the rows of shelves. Renee heard the shuffle and scrape of items being moved and placed on a shelf. "There. Coming." Footsteps squeaked on the tile floor, and a tall Middle-Eastern man with intense dark eyes and slightly unruly thick black hair emerged from behind the shelves. "How can I help you?" he asked.

Renee thought quickly. "My daughter has a pretty bad cold, and I don't know what to get for her." She smiled sheepishly. "I mean, there are so many different choices, and you hear all those things about cold medicine not being safe for young kids. I just want to be careful, you know?"

Abdul Hamad nodded. "Oh, absolutely. We keep cold and cough medicines over here," he said, stepping out from behind the counter. Renee followed him in the direction that he had indicated, satisfied to see that they were out of earshot and line of sight of the pharmacy counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Quinn wandering through an aisle stocked with various types of vitamins. He made eye contact for a split second and nodded subtly.

"Here we go." Hamad stopped in the middle of an aisle lined with colorful boxes of children's medication. "What are some of your daughter's symptoms?"

"She has a runny nose and she's sneezing quite a bit. She says she has a sore throat and feels achy, and I'm pretty sure she has a fever. She was coughing a lot this morning, too." Renee made a face. "She just feels miserable."

"Sounds like it. Colds are no fun, for kids or their parents," he added with a wry smile. "How old is your daughter? A lot of over-the-counter cold medicines shouldn't be given to children younger than four."

"She's five and a half."

Hamad nodded. "All right, let's see here." He scanned the shelves, and Renee listened absently as he studied the boxes and informed her of the pros and cons of various choices. "I think either of these should do the trick for you," he said at last, pulling two of the colorfully labeled boxes from the shelf and handing them to her.

Renee took them, smiling gratefully. "Great. Thanks."

Hamad nodded, returning her smile. "No problem. Glad I could help. I hope your daughter feels better soon."

Renee pretended to glance at his name badge. "Thank you, Jordan. You were a big help." She paused, deliberately meeting his gaze and holding it for several seconds. "Or, I guess I should say, 'Thank you, _Mr. Hamad._' "

For a split second, Renee saw it: the briefest flash of a deer-in-the-headlights panicked expression. Just as quickly, Hamad recovered and shook his head with a smile. "I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else. My name is Jordan Miles. I don't know anyone named Hamad."

"Oh, I think you do." Renee stepped closer to him, all traces of a grateful and worried young mother gone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quinn standing several feet away, silently watching and waiting.

Renee set the two boxes of medicine on the closest shelf and stared into Hamad's dark eyes, meeting his intense gaze with a piercing one of her own. "I don't have a daughter. My name is Renee Walker; I'm an FBI agent. We have Nadir Hashemi in custody, and we know exactly who you are, _Abdul Hamad."_

She brought a hand to her waist and held her jacket open ever so slightly, just enough to display the gun and badge hidden there. "The man standing a few feet behind you is with me, and he's armed too. There are three more agents waiting for us in the parking lot."

Abdul Hamad opened his mouth to speak, but Renee was faster. With two strides, she closed the distance between them and pulled the Beretta pistol from her holster, pressing it firmly into Hamad's side and concealing it between their bodies. With her other hand, she placed his left arm around her shoulders and expertly gripped two of his fingers in a control hold. Hamad winced at the pressure. "One wrong move will result in two broken fingers and a gunshot wound in your side," Renee whispered harshly. "You're coming with us. Move."

They approached the pharmacy counter again, and the woman glanced up expectantly. "If you don't mind, I'm going to take Jordan with me," Renee said sweetly, smiling first at her and then at Hamad. "I got off work early today, and thought I'd surprise him. We've both been so busy lately, you know, I've hardly gotten to see him. Of course," she added, "if you're busy and need him to stay, I understand."

The woman looked surprised, then grinned. Renee's strategic positioning clearly gave her the impression that they were a pair of lovers joined at the hip. "Well, isn't that sweet of you. I think we've got things under control here, so you two can go right ahead. I'll take care of clocking you out, Jordan." She waved a hand at Renee. "Have a nice weekend."

"We will, thank you." Renee returned her grin. "You, too." She smiled up at Hamad, pressing the gun more firmly into his side at the same time, and steered him away from the counter.

"William, I've got Abdul Hamad with me," she said quietly into her comms earpiece.

"Copy that. I'm waiting with Carson and Ziegler."

Renee nodded. "See you in a minute. Move," she ordered curtly, adjusting her grip on the gun and pushing Hamad forward again. They walked nonchalantly through the store, earning conspiratorial glances and smiles from several passerby.

As they reached the two CTU SUV's in the parking lot, William and the two TAC agents immediately flanked them. Satisfied that they provided an adequate shield, Renee took a step back from Hamad and replaced the Beretta in its holster.

"Thanks for not executing your suspect this time," Jake Ziegler said dryly, partially for Hamad's benefit and partially as a tongue-in-cheek scolding for Renee. They both noticed the flicker of alarm in Hamad's eyes, and Ziegler's lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile.

"Good work, Renee," William spoke up, walking around the side of the SUV. She nodded; Hamad glowered. "All right, let's get moving."

Before he had time to react, Ziegler produced a pair of handcuffs and quickly secured Hamad's hands behind his back. "Get in," he said curtly, opening the rear door of the car. Eric Carson walked around the other side of the car and slid into that seat, leaving Hamad boxed in between him on the left and Ziegler on the right. Quinn took his position in the front passenger seat. "Guess that means you're driving, William," Ziegler said. William nodded.

Jack stepped up next to Renee, watching as the SUV pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of CTU.

"Did you get the popsicles for Teri?" she asked him, smiling as he held up a blue plastic bag. "You drive; I'll hold them. Let's go."

TBC! Happy holidays!


	20. Chapter 20

HAPPY NEW YEAR! How was everyone's New Year's Eve? How's the year starting off for you? New Year's Eve night was uneventful but fun; hung out with my family, watched movies, and played Nintendo Wii.  
The bad and good: We got slammed with a HUGE storm on New Year's Eve afternoon – pouring rain, hail, nearly 45mph winds, and at least 10 tornadoes in different areas. I'm okay, no damage, but some areas close to here are almost totally destroyed. I'm a member of civilian first-response teams, so we've spent a few days helping to clean up tornado debris. Please pray for the affected families; many have lost literally EVERYTHING.  
The good and bad: I got a job! After being out of work for almost two years, I have a job again. That means that I'll be getting a much-needed paycheck, but it also means that next semester at school is going to be crazy. I haven't gotten to do as much writing as I wanted, since I don't have much free time. Sorry for the slight delay in posting this chapter, and I honestly have no idea when the next one will be up – hopefully soon!

Here's a chapter of fluffy cuteness. :)

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Chapter 20

Renee followed Jack up the sidewalk towards Kim and Stephen's small ranch-style house, smiling as she sidestepped the pink princess tricycle that had been abandoned half on the sidewalk and half in the yard.

On the porch, Jack shifted the white paper pharmacy bag to his other hand and knocked quietly on the door. After a few moments with no sound from inside the house, he cautiously knocked louder. This time, the knock was answered by footsteps and clicking locks.

Kim smiled as she pulled the door open. "I almost didn't hear your knock. Come on in."

"I would have knocked louder," Jack apologized, "but I didn't want to wake Teri up." He ushered Renee into the foyer as Kim closed the door behind them.

"Thanks, but she's not sleeping." Kim made a face. "Thank you so much," she said gratefully as Jack handed her the small paper bag. "It was enough of a struggle to get Teri into the car to go to the doctor. I really didn't want to have to drag her to the store. She just wants to lay on the couch. She's been crying for most of the day, and won't hardly let me out of her sight."

As if on cue, a small and pitiful voice drifted from the living room. "Mommy?" Teri's voice was a hoarse croak, and Jack and Renee winced in sympathy.

"Mommy's right here, sweetie." Kim walked quickly back into the living room. "And look who else is here."

Teri was curled up on the couch, snuggled cozily in a nest of blankets and pillows. Despite her misery, her eyes lit up and she smiled weakly. "Hi, Grandpa Jack. Hi, Renee."

"Hi, pumpkin." Jack bent to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"

"Really yucky." Teri's blue eyes swam with tears. "My throat's all scratchy, and it really, really hurts! And I have a headache and a tummy ache."

"That is yucky," Jack agreed sympathetically. "Renee and I thought we'd come and see if we could help you feel a little better."

"We brought a surprise," Renee spoke up with a smile, holding up the blue plastic bag. "Yummy popsicles! Maybe they'll help your throat feel better."

"That was nice of you." Kim took the bag from her. "I'll go put these in the freezer before they start to melt. Do you want one now?" she asked her daughter.

Teri nodded eagerly. "Grandpa and Renee can have one, too."

"Just me and Renee?" Jack teased. "What about Mommy? Aren't you going to share with her?"

Kim laughed. "Thanks, Dad. I'll have one later. You want one?" Jack nodded. "Renee, how about you?"

"Sure," Renee agreed. "I like popsicles, and these look extra yummy." She smiled at Teri.

"Well, I just might have to have one now, then." Kim smiled as she walked towards the kitchen. "Let's see what we have. Come pick your flavors."

In the kitchen, Jack discarded the plastic bag while Kim placed the two boxes of popsicles in the freezer. "This is one thing that Teri will eat, at least." She glanced at the bottle of medicine sitting on the counter. "Now I just need to figure out how to get her to take _that."_

Jack picked up the plastic bottle and studied the label. "It says 'New Grape Flavor.' Maybe they've improved the taste."

"Medicine is medicine," Renee replied dryly. "Some is pretty vile. My mom always gave me juice or a little piece of candy afterwards when I was a kid. It didn't completely get rid of the taste, but it helped a little."

While Kim carefully drew up the correct dose, Jack and Renee pawed through the boxes of popsicles.

Renee unwrapped one of the grape-flavored frozen treats and grinned. "Grape and cherry are the best flavors. Orange isn't bad, either. Banana is just wrong." She wrinkled her nose. "Fake banana flavoring, ugh. What's your favorite?" she added.

Jack chuckled. "I'd have to agree." He bit a chunk out of his orange popsicle. "I can't remember the last time I had one of these. Orange was always my favorite flavor, and cherry's a close second."

"One for Teri, one for me." Kim grabbed two cherry popsicles from the box. "Cherry and grape are the only good flavors, in my opinion." She replaced the two boxes in the freezer, picked up the filled medicine dropper in her free hand, and walked back towards the living room. "Let's see how this goes."

Teri took one look at the plastic dosage syringe and buried her head in the pillow. "No," she said, her words muffled against the fabric.

"It'll help you feel better," Kim promised as she knelt down next to the couch. She held out the cherry popsicle. "Look, here's your popsicle." Teri reached for it, but Kim pulled it back and held out the medicine dropper. "You can have it, but I need you to take this first."

Teri looked back and forth between the dreaded medicine and desired popsicle, clearly torn. Finally, wrinkling her nose, she took the dropper and squeezed its contents into her mouth. Immediately, her face screwed up into a grimace of disgust. As she swallowed, tears sprang to her eyes. "It hurts my throat!" Jack, Renee, and Kim winced in sympathy.

Kim quickly took the syringe and held out the promised popsicle. "I'm proud of you for taking it. Here's your popsicle; maybe it will take away some of the icky taste."

Teri grabbed the frozen treat gratefully and licked it greedily. "Yummy."

"Nice and cold, too." Renee smiled at the little girl as she nibbled her own popsicle. "Does that feel better on your throat?" Teri nodded emphatically as she smiled slightly, displaying lips and teeth stained with red juice.

The four of them sat together in the living room, eating popsicles and laughing as the treats devolved into sticky melted messes.

Teri giggled. "Renee, your tongue is purple!"

"And yours is super-duper bright red," Renee replied with a chuckle as she wiped red juice from the little girl's chin. "You look like you're wearing really bright lipstick."

"I don't think purple lipstick is your style," Jack said wryly, smiling at Renee. "The purple juice mustache is an interesting touch, though."

Renee stuck out her tongue and made a goofy face. Teri's giggle was interrupted by a yelp at the pain in her throat. "It hurts to laugh," she cried.

"Sorry," Renee apologized, turning to look at Jack. Glancing sideways at Teri, he arched his eyebrows and stuck out his orange-stained tongue to make an even more exaggerated silly face at Renee. "Hey, the orange lipstick and mustache look great on you, Jack."

Jack snagged a couch pillow and tossed it at her.

"Oh, two can play that game." Renee grabbed the small pillow that had gotten wedged between Teri's foot and the arm of the couch, and whacked Jack's shoulder.

Teri's giggles increased. "Oh, you think this is funny?" Jack demanded, snatching his pillow again and lightly hitting her head with it. "Do you? Huh? Huh?"

Teri's sore throat turned her shriek into a pathetic-sounding croak. "Attack of the grandpa!" Renee exclaimed. "I'll save you, Teri!" She picked up two more pillows and flung them both at Jack. "Ha!"

Jack quickly retaliated in kind, and Teri seized another pilfered pillow and swiped at her grandfather's head with it in a feeble attempt to aid Renee. With a growl, Jack wrapped his arms around her and pulled her off of the couch, scattering stuffed animals and more pillows across the carpet. Teri's giggles became peals of outright laughter as she landed on the floor in a heap of soft pillows and animals.

The fluffy stuffed toys provided extra ammunition as the battle rapidly escalated into an all-out war. A small stuffed rabbit sailed through the air and glanced off of Kim's head, making Teri laugh harder. Kim quickly joined in the melee, and the four of them rolled about on the floor with pillows, stuffed animals, and tickles.

"Truce," Renee panted at last, releasing her grip on a colorful fuzzy toy dragon and collapsing in a heap on the carpet with Teri. Jack and Kim joined them, breathless and laughing.

"My tummy and throat really hurt now," Teri complained, leaning her head back against Jack's arm.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry," Kim apologized, gathering her daughter into her arms. "That was probably too much excitement. Why don't you get back on the couch? We'll quiet down now." Jack and Renee quickly collected the animals that were scattered across the floor and helped Kim tuck Teri back into her "nest" on the couch.

As Jack read a book to Teri, Renee used a box of colorful wooden blocks to build a castle. Halfway through her construction project, she realized that Jack was doing an impressive job with various silly voices for the book's characters. Amused, Renee abandoned the castle and joined the two of them on the couch to listen to the rest of the story. When the book was finished, both Jack and Teri happily joined Renee's castle-building effort. A teddy bear, a plastic horse, and several Lego people immediately took up residence in the small structure, and its architects turned their attention to other projects.

The rest of the afternoon passed with the four of them sitting comfortably in the living room with an array of children's books, puzzles, and games.

By the time Teri fell asleep early in the evening, the living room floor was littered with blocks, books, crayons, stuffed animals, and assorted game pieces. While Kim carried Teri to bed, Renee and Jack carefully picked up the scattered toys.

"Thank you so much for coming," Kim said gratefully, leaning in to hug her father. "I think today would have been pretty miserable otherwise. Can you come back tomorrow?" she added jokingly

Renee smiled. "I, for one, would love that. But unfortunately, I think other people probably have other plans for us." She glanced at the folded newspaper sitting on the coffee table. All three of them grimaced, instantly sobering at the realization.

"I'll call tomorrow and see how Teri's doing," Jack promised.

He and Renee walked to the car in silence. Today had been a fun break; tomorrow they would be back to the reality of active terror threats.

_TBC!  
Well, that was fun. Tomorrow it's back to work for Jack and Renee, and me too. Hopefully I'll have some free time and be able to get more written soon. (After this chapter, I'm suddenly in the mood for a Popsicle...)_


	21. Chapter 21

My new semester of classes has begun! Two daytime classes (American and World History classes), two night classes (one on World Geography, and the other on "Terrorism and Public Policy"), a Saturday morning class (Contemporary Fiction and Non-Fiction), tuition work-study job on campus, off-campus job with paycheck, self-defense classes, and rehearsals for a play. Crazy! Classes seem like they will be fairly interesting, and play rehearsals will be fun, but this schedule is UTTER MADNESS.

My "Terrorism and Public Policy" class is frightening but fascinating stuff. I think the minds of criminals and extremists are creepy and twisted, but so intriguing. (Class stuff also ties in wonderfully with this story plot'o'madness of mine!) I guess that's not really surprising, since I'm a 24 addict and the daughter of a former police officer!

Thank you so much for being so patient, and a million apologies for how long it has taken me to get this chapter written and posted! Hope you enjoy.

.

Chapter 21

The next morning, Chloe gathered all of the agents in the conference room for a briefing.

She settled into her chair at the head of the table and opened her laptop as the few straggling agents quickly found their seats. William glanced up from the opposite end of the table. "I think it's obvious that we're facing a major problem. We've had two major terror attacks in eight days, both of them against schools."

"Not all schools have opened for the day," Renee spoke up, "but preliminary reports are showing that attendance is already down almost forty percent across the country. That means that nearly half of the parents in America are keeping their children home from school today." Murmurs rippled through the room.

Renee nodded grimly. "Parents are terrified, and with good reason. At first, last Friday's shooting looked like an isolated incident. Mahmoud al-Qasim was a religious extremist on a quest for revenge, but he was one man. But Thursday? That's something new, and it was big. And terrifying."

William leaned forward in his chair. "With the shooting, people were upset but not overly concerned. We've had isolated incidents before. The difference is that they were carried out by angry students, not trained terrorists. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had a TEC-9, a shotgun, and faulty homemade explosives at Columbine High, and Cho Seung-Hui had two semi-auto pistols at Virginia Tech. Of course, then we found out that, instead of a student with a pistol and homemade explosives, the shooter this time was Mahmoud al-Qasim with an M4. That's bad enough, but then it got even worse. They're escalating. Our situation on Thursday wasn't caused by angry students with handguns, or even a lone gunman with a high-powered rifle. It was carried out by thirteen highly trained religious extremists who were hell-bent on exacting revenge, causing destruction, and making an example, and they were armed with assault weapons and perfectly functioning high-powered explosives."

The wall-mounted monitor behind Chloe suddenly lit up with an image of bold black text against a stark white printed page. "Forensics teams found this on one of the hostiles," she said, the words directed at her keyboard. "Bits and pieces of it were in a word document on Mahmoud al-Qasim's computer. Looks like this is the final draft." The assembled agents read the message that glared at them from the screen:

"_**For America's self-indulgence, cultural filth, imperialism, and support of the Zionist occupations, Allah is handing down justice on this nation that has become a disgraceful blemish on the globe. **_

_**Ansar Inshallah is a movement that you yourself created. You claimed Arab lands as your own, came to steal our oil, and tried to steal our souls with your corrupt and sickening behavior. We fight for different reasons; for Allah, for revenge, for honor – but we all fight. We will not stop until your streets run red. **_

_**No child of Satan is safe from the hand of Allah. No place is safe for you – not your big cities, not your small villages. We are everywhere. Wherever you are, Ansar Inshallah will be there too.**_

_**Allah's wrath will not end until America has been once again buried deep in the mud from which she rose. **_

_**Allahu akbar!"**_

There were a few seconds of silence.

"Ansar Inshallah's two most recent attacks have been against schools. Is this some new terrorist methodology; ignore the government targets and populated areas, and attack schools?" Jake Ziegler asked from his seat next to William.

Arlo looked up from his laptop screen. "What are we supposed to do? Increase security at the typical target areas and hope that they don't have any more atypical surprises for us?" No one answered. "We've had one shooting with an M4, and a large-scale attack where the hostiles posed as FBI agents. Those aren't conventional terror attacks. There's no telling what else these people have up their sleeves."

_TBC..._


	22. Chapter 22

Sorry for the slight shortness of that last chapter. Hopefully this will help make it up to you. (Thank you, terrorism class textbook and teacher, for filling my brain with all sorts of ideas for future chapters of this story.)

Here's Chapter 22.

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Chapter 22

Katherine Ricci took a small sip of coffee and winced. _Ouch._ Waiting for the too-hot drink to cool to an acceptable temperature, she absently watched tiny curls of steam rise from the ceramic mug cradled in her hands.

Most mornings, coffee was hastily poured into a travel mug as she rushed out the door to one appointment or another. Not today. And so today, she sat on the couch, still clad in her comfortable worn t-shirt and pajama pants, savoring the warmth of the cup in her hand.

She gazed out the window into the backyard, at the colorful array of plants and flowers that she lovingly tended. A steady drizzle had been falling from the dreary gray sky for most of the morning, and she absently watched raindrops streak across the window glass.

Somehow, time seemed slower and details clearer today.

Finally, she finished the last few sips of her coffee and got to her feet. Placing the mug on the kitchen counter, to be taken care of later, she made her way down the hallway to her bedroom.

Standing in the middle of the room, Katherine studied the simple white cotton t-shirt that sat neatly folded at the foot of her bed. Slowly, methodically, she stripped off the faded gray pajama shirt with a large abstract red heart on its chest, followed by her favorite faded old black stretch pants with a patch on one knee.

Just as she pulled the neat white shirt over her head, a polite but firm knock sounded at the front door. Leaving her long dark hair to hang loose down her back, Katherine hastily stepped into a pair of dark blue jeans and hurried to answer the door. She knew exactly who was on the other side.

"_Asalaam alaikum,_ sister Iman," Saleh Atef greeted her, leaning forward to kiss her lightly on both cheeks as a sign of respect.

"_Wa-laikum asalaam,"_ Iman Nahid replied, returning the gesture as she ushered him inside and closed the door. As she took his dripping wet raincoat and slipped it onto a hanger, her eyes drifted to the black backpack that he held in one hand.

Saleh followed her gaze. "You have things to take care of, yes?" he asked, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Iman said quietly.

"Then go." He hefted the backpack over one shoulder. "I will make the final preparations here." Silently, Iman walked down the hallway to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

She crossed the room and knelt in front of the black nightstand next to her bed. The shallow drawer held her few pieces of jewelry, but now it was the contents of the cabinet below the drawer that she wanted. Iman reached back to the farthest rear corner of the small cabinet and withdrew the two items that she had placed there some time ago.

Here was the holy Qur'an, which her father had taught her to read as a child. And here was a faded and creased family photograph, encased in a frame that was now dusty and cracked.

As she studied the smiling faces that gazed up at her from behind the cracked glass, that image was replaced with another: ten-year-old Iman standing amidst piles of smoldering rubble that had been her family's home in Baghdad, staring at the mangled and bloodied bodies of her beloved parents and six-year-old brother Ali.

The Americans and their airplanes had been aiming for another target, but their so-called "smart bomb" had not been so smart. Instead of killing whoever they had intended, they had left Iman with nothing but memories, rubble, and the bodies of her family.

Years later, when she had been approached by a nameless man and offered an opportunity to join the ranks of Ansar Inshallah, to seek revenge for what she had lost all those years ago, she had agreed without hesitation.

Today, after what felt like an eternity of waiting and preparation, of living among her enemies and pretending to be one of them as Katherine Ricci, Iman Nahid's day of revenge had come.

_Mama, Papa, little Ali,_ _I'm doing this for you. Today, I will restore our family's honor._

Iman left the picture lying atop her dark blue bedspread and walked slowly into the bathroom, studying her reflection in the mirror as she turned on the tap and waited for the water splashing into the sink to grow warmer.

The steps of _wu'du_, ritual cleansing and purification, felt almost as familiar to her as breathing. Slowly, reverently, she cupped her hands and let them fill with the warm water. Her lips moved in silent prayer as she gently splashed water over her face, wrists, hands, ankles, and feet.

With the sacred ritual complete, Iman turned off the water and carefully dried herself off.

There was a quiet tap on her bedroom door, and Saleh peered around the doorframe. "Are you ready, _shahida?"_ he asked respectfully.

_Shahida._ A female warrior, a martyr for Allah. That was what she would be today.

Iman took a deep breath. "Yes. I am ready."

"Hold out your arms," Saleh instructed, lifting the bulky vest above her head. Iman did so, feeling the power of the weight resting on her shoulders as he lowered the heavy vest onto her body.

Saleh held up two metal buckles and met Iman's gaze. "After I make this connection, there will be no going back. Are you prepared to do this?"

Iman nodded. "Yes."

"Very well." The two buckles locked into place with an audible click, securing the explosive-laden vest on her body.

As Saleh inspected and adjusted the placement of the two large cloth pouches filled with marbles, metal screws, and ball bearings, Iman picked up her mother's ring. The beautiful gold ring with its elegant carved designs was one of the few things that she had been able to salvage from all those years ago. She brought it to her lips and kissed it gently before dropping it into the pouch that hung over her right side. With a nod of approval, Saleh buttoned the two pouches closed and tucked them the rest of the way into the vest.

With that accomplished, he picked up the loose button-down blouse that lay at the foot of the bed and held it out. Slowly, Iman slid first one arm and then the other through the sleeves and adjusted the shirt to cover the vest beneath it. As she fumbled with the small buttons, Saleh rummaged in his backpack and produced the long black raincoat that would fully conceal the bulky explosive vest from view. Moving with caution, Iman slipped into the coat and drew it around her, enveloping herself in its silky waterproof fabric.

Solemnly, Saleh held out a small silver cylinder. The two of them locked eyes for a long moment before Iman wordlessly took the detonator from him and curled her fingers around it. "The detonator has a metal cap," Saleh informed her. "When you are ready, you will flip the cap up with your thumb and press the red button underneath."

Iman nodded in understanding.

Her gaze drifted to the photo of her family that still lay in the middle of the bed. As Saleh tucked the red detonator cord inside her coat, she picked up the framed picture and gently extracted it from its frame. She studied it for a few moments, running her fingers over the glossy printed paper, before sliding the creased and faded photo into the breast pocket of her blouse.

"Is there anything else?"

Saleh shook his head. "No, you are ready." He straightened and held out his hand. Iman took it, shaking it formally, as Saleh placed his free hand on her shoulder. _"Ma'salaama,"_ he said solemnly. "Farewell, sister _shahida._ Go in peace."

She walked beside him to the front door and reached for her umbrella as Saleh gently clasped her shoulder. _"Allahu akbar."_

Taking a deep breath, Iman stepped out into the rain.

As she walked silently through the streets of Los Angeles, the fingers of her right hand curled around the detonator buried deep in her coat pocket, she was keenly aware of the pressing weight from the explosive-laden vest encasing her chest. Somehow, it seemed to make the sights and sounds surrounding her even more vivid: the quiet splash of her shoes in the puddles covering the rain-drenched sidewalks, the cacophony of voices and snippets of conversation from passerby, and the occasional bright splash of color from a passing car, brightly lit sign, or colorful piece of clothing.

A miniature tidal wave of rainwater suddenly drenched the lower right leg of Iman's jeans. She turned to find a young girl, perhaps four years old, standing in a large puddle that she had evidently jumped into with both feet. The girl froze, staring up at Iman with large, luminous blue eyes. "Oops."

"Claire!" The girl's mother quickly stood up from where she had knelt to tie her son's shoe. "I told you to stay right next to me." She rushed to grab her daughter's arm. "I'm so sorry!"

Little Claire peered shyly up at Iman. "Boots are _s'posed_ to splash in the rain." She held out her foot to display her bright pink rain boots. "See?"

"You're right," her mother agreed. "But they aren't supposed to get you, _or other people,_ all wet!" She looked at Iman's drenched and dripping leg and pursed her lips. "Your pants are soaking wet."

Iman shook her head. "It's fine, really. They'll dry."

"All right." The woman sighed. "I'm sorry," she repeated over her shoulder as she knelt to pick up her armload of bags. "Claire, Jason, let's go."

Iman watched the young mother and her two children for a few moments, then shook her head. _Enough. Focus._

A dark-haired young man wearing a UCLA sweatshirt under his raincoat emerged from the coffee shop a few stores away. Shouldering his backpack, he caught Iman's eye over the rim of his coffee cup. Arching an eyebrow, she nodded politely at him before turning away to survey her surroundings.

Her gaze landed on a street-side bus shelter, and a quick glance up the street showed that the bus was approaching. _Perfect._

Iman joined the few other rain-drenched and weary people huddled inside the small shelter, carefully avoiding eye contact with any of them. As the bus wheezed to a stop and the doors opened, she fished in her pocket for sufficient change to pay the fare and cautiously made her way down the narrow aisle to a vacant seat near the back.

She glanced at her watch. _Two minutes._

She leaned her head against the window, watching raindrops trickle across the glass, as the bus moved through the streets. Occupied with their own thoughts, none of the other passengers paid attention to the silent young woman in the dripping black raincoat.

Iman carefully pushed herself to her feet as they approached a crowded intersection, stumbling slightly and bracing herself against the seat back in front of her as the bus turned a corner.

Her right hand curled tighter around the detonator buried deep in her coat pocket. In one smooth movement, she jerked the zipper on her raincoat and shook the garment off of her shoulders, exposing the explosive vest underneath. The horrified passengers screamed as they realized what was happening.

"I am Ansar Inshallah!" Iman Nahid shouted, raising her right arm high above her head. _"Allahu akbar!"_

The force of the explosion lifted the bus off of the ground like a child's toy, immediately engulfing it in a massive ball of brilliant orange fire. A chorus of screams rose from nearby onlookers as bits of glass, metal, and shrapnel rained down onto the pavement.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Chloe!" Renee's shout made all of the nearby CTU agents freeze in their tracks. All color had drained from the petite red-haired FBI agent's face, and she looked stunned. "LAPD's receiving multiple reports of a suicide bombing in downtown LA. A bus, at a crowded intersection, in one of the major shopping districts. First responders haven't arrived on site yet, but initial witness reports are that it's bad."

"Pulling up the cameras now," Arlo said instantly, his fingers already flying furiously over the computer keyboard. The satellite image that appeared on the large screen in the middle of the bullpen made everyone in the room gasp.

Chloe sat down hard in her chair. "Oh, my God."

-o-o-o-o-o-

It took first responders less than four minutes to reach the blast site. Police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks came racing from all directions, horns blaring and sirens screaming, with dozens of news reporters and cameras right behind them.

They descended on what looked like a scene from a horror movie. Pieces of smoldering metal, cloth, and rubber lay scattered across the intersection and in nearby trees. Razor-sharp bits of screws, ball bearings, and marbles that had become deadly airborne projectiles were embedded in the pavement, storefront walls, and trees. Miniscule shards of glass littered the pavement, some from the bus and the rest from nearby buildings whose windows had exploded with the force of the blast's massive concussion.

In all of the pouring rain and blood and madness, no one noticed the young man in a UCLA sweatshirt quietly making his way through the crowd. If anyone had checked his backpack, they would have found that it was filled not with clothes and books, but instead nails, broken glass, marbles, and fifteen pounds of plastic explosives. His iPod contained no memory card, but instead an ignition system.

Surrounded and overwhelmed by horrific chaos, none of the nearby onlookers or responders noticed the silent young man. There was too much to do; too many people to console, treat, and question.

Khaled Azmi maneuvered through the milling crowd and worked his way to its center. There, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said a silent prayer. Then he pressed Play.

The second explosion was not as powerful as the first – but it was in full view of dozens of first responders, onlookers, news broadcasters, and the hundreds of people watching the scene unfold on live television.

A scrap of paper fluttered down onto the pavement, landing amidst hundreds of feet walking around the scene. Cautiously, the closest news reporter reached down to pick it up as it brushed against his shoe. "Anybody have a flashlight?" he asked the milling crowd. A nearby police officer offered a small LED penlight.

The message was nearly illegible through rain and soot. The tiny light's bright beam was only slightly effective in illuminating the charred shred of paper, but it was enough to make out the words written in blood-red ink.

"_**That which has been taken in blood, can only be answered in blood."**_

TBC…..


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I'm back! I'm almost EMBARRASSED at how long it's taken me to get this chapter posted for you! I had a major case of writer's block for quite a while, and now that the ideas are coming again (somewhat), school is getting crazy and I don't have a lot of time to write. Sigh.

I finally do have a new chapter written for you, and am working on brainstorming and writing more in between school assignments. You (hopefully) won't have to wait anywhere NEAR as long for the next chapters, but we'll see. Papers and projects are starting to pile on at school, and I'm working a lot, so I don't have a lot of free time.

Anyway, here's another chapter for you. Thanks for being so patient, and THANK YOU for all of the great reviews! I'm having fun writing this fic (learning some new stuff as I come up with ideas), so I'm really glad you're enjoying. Please keep reviewing and sharing your opinions and input!

Here's the next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 23

News reporters were usually adept at keeping their emotions hidden and reporting facts simply and methodically. The petite blond-haired woman looked visibly shaken as she stared into the lens of the camera facing her, standing against a backdrop of flames, debris, and destruction. The image looked like something from Ramallah, Beirut, or Baghdad, but the location was unmistakably downtown Los Angeles.

The footage was almost too horrific to broadcast in family rooms and living rooms, and hard facts and confirmed details were sketchy at best. The only thing certain was that the scene was chaos.

"We're live with breaking news, at the scene of an apparent suicide bombing in downtown Los Angeles," the female reporter said solemnly, gripping her microphone tighter. "Eyewitness reports tell us that the first blast came from a public bus, which exploded in the middle of this crowded intersection approximately twenty minutes ago. The second occurred roughly six minutes after that, just as the first emergency responders arrived on site. Numbers haven't been confirmed yet, but responders estimate that the death toll is close to eighty, including the two bombers, and injured victims are numbering close to one hundred."

The camera panned across the small groups of stunned onlookers milling on the outskirts of the scene, all clearly in shock and many in tears. "The mood here is somber as people struggle to come to grips with the reality that suicide bombing has apparently come to America."

"My God," Renee murmured, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she stared at the devastating scene that lay before them. Behind her, Jake Ziegler and Quinn said nothing.

Jack gently touched her shoulder. "You okay?" Renee nodded, tight-lipped, as the four of them climbed out of the black CTU SUV one by one.

Quinn nodded to a passing police officer. "Marcus Quinn, CTU. These are Jack Bauer and Jake Ziegler with CTU, and Renee Walker with the FBI CIRG. What can you tell us?"

"Chris Orr, LAPD," the man replied. He angled his head towards the cluster of news reporters. "You heard that report. Two suicide bombers just killed eighty people. One of them detonated their bomb in the middle of a crowd of first responders, right in front of a dozen reporters and their cameras.

Renee glanced towards the cordon of ambulances and police cars surrounding the scene, their flashing lights bathing the scene in red and blue strobes. "Has anyone gotten anything useful from witnesses or injured victims?"

Chris Orr shook his head. "The ones who are in good enough shape to talk are all saying mostly the same thing. Bus enters intersection and explodes, there's chaos, emergency responders arrive on site, and all of a sudden there's another blast in the middle of the crowd. No one saw it coming."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack spotted a tall redheaded woman sitting in the back of one of the ambulances, seemingly oblivious to the blood trickling down one side of her face from a profusely bleeding gash on her forehead. Her neat blouse and skirt were torn and smeared with blood and grime.

His gaze landed not on her, but on the man standing near her with a video camera in his hands.

Abruptly turning away from Officer Orr, Jack walked quickly towards the ambulance. The woman glanced up as he approached. "Yes?" she asked weakly.

"My name is Jack Bauer; I'm a federal agent with the Counter-Terrorism Unit," he told her, crouching down to her eye level.

"Christine Nielsen." She flinched as a medic inspected the bleeding wound on her forehead. "Do you know anything about the people who did this?" Her tone was that of both a frightened injured victim and a curious news reporter.

"We have an idea," Jack said simply. He glanced at her camera, noticing on closer inspection that it was covered in soot and its lens cracked. "May I see that?" Without objection, the cameraman handed it over.

"What've you got?" Quinn walked to look over Jack's shoulder. "Video footage?"

"Assuming that it works." Jack nodded. "There are dozens of cameras here. _Someone_ has to have gotten at least a glimpse of the bomber." He gestured vaguely towards the reporters milling behind the yellow tape barriers.

Quinn straightened. "Ziegler, can you give me a hand? We'll start looking at some of the others." Jack nodded, not looking up from the camera. He breathed a sigh of relief as it powered up and the video screen flickered to life.

"Here," a passing police officer said over her shoulder, nodding towards a laptop computer sitting in the back of one of the tactical vans. "You can use this. There's no way you'll be able to make anything out on that little screen."

The images were horrific; blood and fire and destruction. Over the noise of wailing sirens rose a cacophony of shrieks, screams, and frantic voices yelling the names of loved ones.

Suddenly, the thunderous roar of a massive explosion drowned out all other sound as a brilliant orange fireball billowed from the midst of the crowd. "What the _hell?" _Christine Nielsen's startled voice exclaimed.

The camera jerked violently, the video shifting in a dizzying wild blur as the camera toppled over. _"Chris!"_ her cameraman shouted. The lens displayed a split-second close-up view of the pavement through a cracked lens before the image abruptly went dark.

Renee pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Play it again."

The two of them leaned forward to peer intently at the laptop screen as the video played a second time. "There!" Renee said suddenly. "Stop it there. Look at the bottom right corner of the screen. The man with the backpack." Jack tapped a few keys and zoomed in on the image. Together, they carefully watched as the video played frame by slow frame.

"There's our bomber," Quinn said matter-of-factly, studying the images. "Look at how he's standing, how he bows his head and then turns on the iPod. He's praying. That's not an iPod; it's a detonator. Probably connected to his backpack." Renee and Jack nodded grimly. "Play it again. Can we see his face?"

"There," the officer spoke up, pointing at the screen. "He looks up for just a second before putting his head down and pressing the button." Small smiles of satisfaction briefly crossed all five of their faces.

"Chloe, we've got a visual on the bomber," Quinn informed her. "Jack's sending it to you now for an ID."

Several moments later, her reply crackled back through his comms earpiece. "Got it. I'm on it. I'll get back to you when we have something."

"Copy that. Thanks, Chloe."

"This is Ansar Inshallah," Ziegler said matter-of-factly. "That much is obvious. There's no way these are copycats. It's too organized. They're here, their sleeper cells are awake and active, and they're making good on their threats. The question isn't _if;_ it's _when_ and _where."_ No one argued.

Renee stepped backwards as an LAPD officer knelt to place a yellow forensic evidence tag on the pavement near where her foot had been. "Right now, I don't think Ansar Inshallah is interested in political targets. From what we've seen so far, I think their future strikes will be more random, like attacks in Israel. Schools, malls, Wal-Mart, McDonald's – random, devastating attacks against everyday civilian targets, designed to terrify the population and paralyze the economy."

Quinn nodded. "Agreed. Other than criticizing us for stealing their oil and supporting the 'Zionist occupation', that last note wasn't railing against our government policies. It was all about our corrupt society and filthy behavior. Their plan is to destroy our way of life."

_Dun-dun-DUN! TBC..._


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The next morning dawned cloudless and bright, the cheerful sunshine belying the horrors of the previous day. Looking at the sky, one might be temporarily fooled into thinking that things were calm and pleasant, but even a cursory glance at a newspaper or television quickly proved that to be false.

"Homeland Security's raised the threat level to Red, and DOD's asking all agencies for revised security protocols," Renee spoke up as she sat down at her desk. "Any news?"

"New York, Washington DC, and Seattle have already increased their police presence in the streets, and LA's following suit. As of six o'clock this morning, there are four thousand police officers patrolling the streets of Los Angeles and Pasadena on high alert," William informed her. "And the word is that around two thousand National Guard soldiers may be joining them for additional security."

"Just what citizens want to see," Arlo said dryly, looking up from his computer screen. "Soldiers with assault weapons. This is going to cause widespread panic."

"That's already happened," Renee replied. "Ansar Inshallah is making good on their threats, and the American people are scared. First it was school attacks, now it's suicide bombings." She leaned forward in her chair. "Arlo, do you have an ID on yesterday's bomber?"

Arlo moved his chair aside to allow her to look over his shoulder at the screen. "Khaled Azmi, age twenty-three. He has a student visa on file at UCLA, listing him as an international student from Amman, Jordan. But, big surprise, that's bogus. Any guesses as to where he's really from?"

"I'm thinking either Iraq or... Iraq," Renee replied dryly.

"Exactly. Born in Haditha, Iraq; grew up in Tikrit."

"Saddam Hussein's home town," William observed. "That explains a lot."

Arlo nodded. "He spent a significant amount of time training at the Salman Pak camp outside of Baghdad." Renee and William both grimaced. The large facility fifteen miles south of Baghdad had been a key component of Iraq's biological and chemical weapons programs, as well as a major training facility for terror groups.

"So, I assume he's connected with Ansar Inshallah," William said. "Probably a lower-level member, someone fairly insignificant. This is big for us, but to them it's nothing. They're not going to give up any of their higher-ranking and better-trained members for something like this."

Quinn grabbed the wheeled desk chair from a nearby unoccupied workstation and pushed himself over to the small group huddled around Arlo's desk. "For obvious reasons, Khaled Azmi won't be able to give us any leads. Have Nadir Hashemi or Abdul Hamad given us anything?"

William hesitated. "Yes and no. Out of the two of them, Abdul Hamad definitely knows more than Hashemi, but he's not talking. We've pushed him as hard as we can, but so far haven't gotten anything. Nadir Hashemi was recruited, trained, and paid by Hamad. The only real information he was given were the specifics of his mission at the school. He gave us Hamad's name, as well as a man named Zahir Assef."

"According to Hashemi, it sounded like Assef was the one in charge," Renee said. "When he gave us Assef's name, he equated him with Osama bin Laden heading al-Qaeda."

William nodded grimly. "All indications are that he's right. Assef may not be the lead man, but he's definitely in a position of power. He supplied Hamad with the weapons for their operation."

"And the FBI gear?" Renee tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was all replica gear. Do we have anything on where it came from?"

"Three of the jackets came from a military and police surplus store," Arlo spoke up. "According to the manager, a man matching Hamad's description came in twice and bought them. The rest of the jackets and the badges came from two online stores, paid for with a bogus credit card and shipped to a PO box in Pasadena."

Renee sighed. "No leads there."

"I think it's safe to assume that Hamad was responsible for arming Khaled Azmi as well," Quinn said. Renee and William nodded in agreement.

"Forensics teams are going through all of the video footage from reporters at the scene yesterday. Judging by the size and scope of the blast, they estimate that Azmi had close to fifteen pounds of plastic explosives. They were able to collect some of the shrapnel, and it looks like his backpack was stuffed with a mixture of nails, ball bearings, broken glass, and marbles in addition to the explosives."

"Flying projectiles," Renee said bitterly. "Designed to inflict maximum damage."

Quinn nodded grimly. "One team is working on identifying the size and brands of the nails and ball bearings, and once we have that narrowed down, we'll be able to check with hardware stores. It's unlikely that Azmi bought many, if any, of the supplies himself," he added, "but it's worth a shot."

Renee's PDA chirped with an incoming message. "The FBI CIRG is asking for reinforcements at the scene," she said, scrolling through the message. "LAPD officers and FBI forensics teams have been on-site all night, and they need people to replace them."

William nodded. "I sent Carson with two TAC agents a few hours ago," he said. "They need all the help they can get." He glanced around the table. "Renee, since you're our CIRG liaison, they're going to want you there eventually. I'll send Quinn and Jack along with you as backup."

Renee stood and picked up the manila folder containing Arlo's profile of Khaled Azmi as Quinn got to his feet and returned his chair to its intended desk. "I'll meet you two in the armory."

-o-o-o-o-o-

At first glance, the streets of Los Angeles appeared to be unaffected by the previous day's events as most people calmly went about their daily routines. However, as the three agents made their way towards the bombing site, all of them noticed subtle changes.

Bus shelters lining the streets, normally occupied with at least a few people making their morning commute, were eerily empty.

A uniformed police officer leaned against the wall of a convenience store, casually eating a sandwich. His free hand rested on the Glock 9mm pistol tucked into his hip holster, and his eyes moved imperceptibly back and forth as he intently surveyed his surroundings.

A group of children dressed in the uniform of a local private school, all perhaps nine or ten years old, carefully made their way through a crosswalk. Instead of focusing on their route, most of the children were eyeing two police cars parked nearby. Catching their curious gazes, one of the officers smiled and held up a hand. A few of the children returned his smile and wave, glancing back over their shoulders at the two officers as they continued on their way to school.

Renee, Jack, and Quinn exchanged glances, but said nothing.

"We're going to have to walk from here," Quinn said, pulling the car over to one side of the street and pocketing the keys.

A decent number of people were milling in the parking lot of a nearby grocery store and along the sidewalks between shops, but their gazes lingered on each others' faces, silently searching and scrutinizing. The situation appeared normal at first glance, but the tension and unease were palpable.

The debris-strewn disaster site that had once been a public bus and several storefronts could not be seen from this distance, but the scent of smoke hung heavily in the air, and it was impossible to miss the law enforcement officers and neon-orange road signs directing people away from the closed street.

Renee abruptly tore her gaze and thoughts away from the scene and focused on her immediate surroundings again, but it wasn't fast enough to avoid a collision with the teenage girl who had suddenly appeared in front of her. The girl tripped over Renee's foot and pitched forward with a startled yelp. Reflexively, Renee's hand shot out and wrapped around her arm, steadying her and keeping them both upright.

"Excuse me," she cried. "I'm sorry!"

Renee waved away her flustered apology. "Are you okay?"

The girl nodded as she straightened and regained her balance. "I'm fine. Thank you. I –" She stopped mid-sentence. "Agent Walker?"

As Renee drew back, startled, Jack processed the girl's identity a split second before she did. "Haley?"

In that instant, Renee immediately recognized the slender petite dark-haired girl. "What are you doing here?" Haley asked in surprise. Her gaze drifted to the far end of the street. "Oh."

"Yes, that." Renee nodded grimly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"My friends wanted to get something for lunch." Haley indicated the three girls sitting at a nearby outdoor table. "Kayla needed to find a new dress, and my mom thought it would be a good idea for me to get out and go with them. 'Return to normal routine' and all that." She grimaced. "As normal as things can get for us now, anyway."

As Haley angled her head, Renee caught sight of the angry red twisted scars that marred and contorted the right side of the girl's face. Her long, sleek dark hair had been deliberately arranged to cover the short cropped area surrounding the puckered scar near her temple. "I don't know if this was the best idea."

"What part? Coming here, or going out at all?" Renee asked delicately.

Haley's scars turned crimson as she blushed. "Both. I-I don't like going out. People stare at me like I'm a freak." She bit her lip. "And after what happened yesterday, going out seems..." She shrugged. "Well, you know."

_Oh, yes. We know._

"We're counter-terrorism agents, remember?" Renee said calmly. "That's why there are police officers all over the streets. Protection is our job."

_But we couldn't stop this one._

She deliberately ignored the thought and smiled reassuringly. "You look better than the last time we saw you. How are you doing?"

Haley shrugged again. "We're all still trying to figure out how to deal with everything. I'm okay, I guess."

As Jack leaned over to speak to Haley, his words were drowned out by the sound of an explosion echoing through the street. A chorus of shrieks and screams filled the air as nearby pedestrians and restaurant patrons dove for cover.

Renee leaped to her feet and drew her pistol from its holster, her heart pounding.

_Another bomber, another crowd... how bad is it this time?_

As the three agents frantically scanned their surroundings, this time they saw no flames or flying shrapnel.

"It was the bus," Quinn said over his shoulder, the color slowly returning to his face as he holstered his pistol. "A backfire."

Renee nearly collapsed in relief as she watched people pick themselves up from the pavement, smiling sheepishly and laughing feebly.

Jack knelt next to Haley, who had flattened herself on the ground, trembling violently. Her face had drained of all color, and her eyes were wide and filled with utter terror. Renee and Jack encircled the girl's body in their arms, feeling her chest heaving with ragged breaths as she choked back tears.

Renee took a deep breath, her own heart pounding along with Haley's. She met Jack's gaze over the girl's head, both of them silently asking the same question.

_This was a false alarm... but what's next?_

TBC!


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Two months? TWO MONTHS since the last update? Good grief! I am SO SORRY!_

_The last two months or so at school were completely insane. In addition to all of the end-of-the-semester papers and projects, I was also in a play, and April was PACKED with rehearsals. (One of our campus security officers was a police officer for 35 years before coming to us, and he wrote a play about one night in a police station and all the people that come through it. I was an elderly homeless woman, and one of my friends was a female detective.) The schedule was insane, but performances went great, and we had a lot of fun!_

_I'm out for the summer now, and have free time, which means WRITING! I finally got over a huge writer's block, so hopefully the ideas will keep coming. :-)_

_Anyway, a million apologies for my LONG absence, but I'm back now! Hopefully all my readers didn't give up and go away..._

_Here's a new chapter for you!_

* * *

Chapter 25

Jack studied Renee out of the corner of his eye as the three agents made their way along the sidewalk. She was walking briskly but calmly, standing straight and intently studying their surroundings. He noticed, however, that her shoulders were almost imperceptibly slumped, her head angled ever so slightly, and her hands curled into tight fists inside the pockets of her dark blue FBI jacket.

By all outward appearances, Renee was a calm and collected federal agent, focused solely on the task at hand. The subtle gestures, however, told Jack that she was shaken and uneasy.

"Hey." He fell into step next to her. "You okay?"

Renee nodded curtly, not meeting his gaze. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Jack placed a hand on her shoulder. "Renee. Look at me."

Renee stopped abruptly and swung around to face him. "We took an oath to protect and defend this country from terror attacks. There have been three so far, and God only knows what will come next. We just watched people stop in their tracks and dive for cover because a bus backfired. Normally, they would hear it and not give it a second thought, but now their first thought is, _Something just exploded._ That's the mindset in Jerusalem and Beirut, not Los Angeles."

She met his gaze. "Honestly, Jack, I'm terrified. We're fighting an enemy hell-bent on bringing us to our knees, and God only knows what will come next." He started to speak, but Renee shook her head. "We have a job to do, and I intend to do it. So yes, _I'm fine."_

With that, she displayed her credentials for the agent stationed in front of the cordoned-off blast site and stepped past him, leaving Jack and Quinn to follow.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Stepping carefully through the chaos, Jack spotted Renee leaning against the black-paneled side of a tactical truck and called her name. She glanced up, startled, and reflexively caught the water bottle that he tossed towards her. "Here."

Brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face with the back of one hand, Renee unscrewed the cap and gratefully took a long drink of the cold water. "Thanks." Jack nodded.

They both turned at the sound of footsteps, and Renee immediately straightened and faced the approaching LAPD officer. "Renee Walker, FBI."

The broad-shouldered man's dark blue uniform was smudged with dirt and gritty gray ash, there was a streak of soot in his close-cropped blond hair, and exhaustion showed plainly on his face. "Matt Lakin, LAPD."

Renee returned his firm handshake. "You have something?"

The officer nodded, motioning for Jack and Renee to follow him. As they maneuvered around tactical trucks, yellow forensic evidence tags and crime scene tape, and dozens of people, he spoke over his shoulder. "In the span of about an hour, unmarked packages were delivered to four different television stations. Padded manila mailing envelopes. No delivery or return address, no stamps, and they all were just left there."

"Mail bombs?" Jack asked, dreading the answer.

Officer Lakin shook his head. "No, thank God. At least a few people had the same thought, though, and called the police to report delivery of a suspicious package."

"Not the best delivery method," another officer spoke up. "You'd think they would want to attract as little suspicion as possible."

"Somehow, I don't think Ansar Inshallah is too concerned with postal regulations," Renee replied dryly.

Officer Lakin handed her a plastic CD case. "This is what was in all four envelopes. A case and a DVD, both with the same Arabic writing on them."

Renee turned the clear plastic case over in her hands. _"Al-Tanbih,"_ she said, reading the Arabic script that had been written in bold red marker. "It's Arabic for 'alert' or 'warning.' Looks like this is a message from Ansar Inshallah."

"You speak Arabic?" Officer Lakin asked her.

Renee nodded. "I can't pass for a native speaker, but I'm fairly fluent." She glanced at the laptop computer that sat open and booted up on the table. "Have you watched the video?"

The officer nodded, reaching over to pull up the computer's video player. "Here, take a look." Jack leaned to peer over Renee's shoulder as the video began to play.

A man appeared on the screen, his face concealed behind a black _khaffiyeh_ scarf. His ink-black eyes, glittering with malice and determination, were all that could be seen through a narrow gap in the carefully-wrapped fabric. Staring boldly into the camera lens, he sat up straight in his chair and addressed his audience. "People of America, by now you have learned the name of Ansar Inshallah." His tone was measured and even, calm and confident. "You have seen what we are capable of."

Several still photos and an assortment of video clips flashed across the screen, a compilation of images from the three recent terror attacks. There were teenagers and adults hugging one another tearfully, tactical agents swarming over the school grounds with weapons drawn, forensic technicians photographing blood splatters and shell casings, and paramedics transporting the deceased and injured victims after Mahmoud al-Qasim's school shooting. Then came photos of a stockpile of plastic explosives and AK-47's, a few-second clip of Emily's hostage video, several pictures of the school wall with its gaping hole and debris-strewn parking lot, and assorted images of tactical teams and anxious families. The final few images had clearly been taken following the previous day's two suicide bombings: the burned-out shell that had once been a public bus, razor-sharp bits of metal and broken marbles embedded in the pavement and trees, and a chaotic scene crawling with news reporters and law enforcement personnel.

All of these were images that had been previously shown on television news broadcasts and the front page of newspapers, but that didn't make them any less shocking. Renee shuddered and Jack grimaced.

The images faded away and were replaced by the unidentified man sitting before the camera. "I am just one of the many faces of Ansar Inshallah. But who am I? I am your neighbor, your friend, your coworker. I stand next to you in the elevator, and ride with you on the bus, train, and airplane."

More pictures appeared on the screen. The first two side-by-side images were of Mahmoud al-Qasim. His school yearbook photo with glasses, a short and neatly trimmed beard, a friendly smile, and the caption, _"Mr. David Ahmad"_, had been placed alongside a photo of him with a longer beard and holding a sleek black M4 rifle. The next two images were of Anika Jankovic. One showed her dressed in jeans and a simple but elegant pink blouse, her dark blond hair hanging loose down her back as she smiled at the camera. The other had been taken in a barren, dusty field and showed her with her hair pulled back, wearing dark green military fatigues, and carrying an AK-47. The final two pictures were of Abdul Hamad: One of his pharmacy photo ID badge, showing him in a neat and professional-looking white lab coat and listing his name as _"Jordan Miles",_ and the other of him standing confidently with a large and powerful .50-caliber Desert Eagle pistol.

The message was unmistakable: _Ansar Inshallah was hidden in plain sight. _Three people, all of whom had been either partially or completely responsible for each of the three terror attacks, had managed to blend into society and go completely undetected until the day that they had stepped out to fulfill their assignments.

The man continued, his tone still calm and even, but now he sounded smug. "When you are in your office, waiting in traffic, or sitting on your train, bus, or airplane, you will see me. You will see me and wonder what I am thinking, what is in my briefcase or on the seat next to me."

More pictures and video footage, these of cars on the highway and crowds of people walking, and several close-up lingering shots of random purses and backpacks.

"You think that I am like you, but you are mistaken." The man's tone grew more intense. "You are safe nowhere. Trust no one." He leaned forward in his chair. "And remember that I am one man, and there are thousands more like me."

The video faded to black.

Renee exhaled hard as Officer Lakin silently removed the DVD from the computer and replaced it in its case. "It said _'Warning.'_ That's a warning, all right."

"Chloe, did you get this video?" Jack asked his comms earpiece.

"Yeah, Jack, we got it. Apparently, it was delivered to the CNN and Fox News offices in Los Angeles, as well as two local stations. Ansar Inshallah wants to make sure that their message gets out."

"What do you think they meant by showing the footage of the bags?" Officer Lakin asked Renee. "More suicide attacks?"

"We heard that," Quinn said in Jack's earpiece. "That seems like a definite possibility. Khaled Azmi's bomb came from fifteen pounds of plastic explosives in his backpack. Of course, given the tone of that video, it's also likely that they just want to keep us off guard and going crazy with what-ifs."

"This is like looking for needles in a haystack," Arlo said grimly.

"Except that these needles want to blow up the haystack," Renee replied dryly. She crossed her arms. "We need any intel we can get. Names, faces, fingerprints, fabric fibers, glass shards, you name it."

A passing forensic technician, carrying a handful of plastic evidence bags, caught Officer Lakin's gaze and approached the small group of agents. "I just picked up a partial fingerprint." She held up one of the small bags, containing what appeared to be part of a blue marble. "We pulled this from one of the storefront walls, and I got a partial print from it. I don't know how it avoided being completely destroyed by the heat, but there it is. I sent it for an ID."

"That could be anything," William remarked. "The person who packaged the marbles, or a little kid who played with them at the store. Or," he added with a slight smile, "a terrorist who slipped up while he was putting his bomb together."

Renee met the woman's gaze with a smile. "Good work."

_TBC!_


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Well, judging by the comments left for this last chapter, it looks like my "terrorist video" scared a lot of you! It was modeled after videos that have been made by real-life terrorists, which are just as (if not more so) graphic, shocking, and frightening. Scary stuff!

Here's another chapter for you. Hope you enjoy! As always, I look forward to your comments and input!

* * *

Chapter 26

Officer Kathy Reese closed the zipper on a purple backpack and handed it back to the young woman in her early twenties who waited patiently in front of her. "All right, ma'am. Here you go." She smiled slightly. "Have a good weekend."

"Thanks. You too." The girl returned her smile, picked up her bag, and walked on.

Kathy turned her attention to the next person in line. On either side of her, two other officers were carefully examining purses, laptop cases, backpacks, and other assorted bags. "Can I see your bag, please, sir?" The middle-aged businessman rolled his eyes in annoyance, but shoved his laptop shoulder bag across the table. "Sorry about this," she apologized. The man merely grunted. Satisfied, Kathy released her grip on the bag. "Okay. Here you go." Without a word, he slung the laptop case back over his shoulder and hurried away.

Officer Mark O'Hara walked briskly through the train station, his gaze traveling over the crowd of people around him as he intently studied his surroundings. He nodded politely to a young man carrying a black messenger bag with an Azusa Pacific University sticker, and waved at a blond pigtailed little girl wearing a pink Barbie backpack on her back.

The station was just as crowded as usual, but there was a definite change in the atmosphere. Everyone was well aware of the heightened terror threat level and increased security measures, and tension in the air was palpable.

O'Hara's gaze landed on a man sitting on a nearby bench. Blue jeans, black t-shirt, glasses, olive-green backpack. _College student,_ O'Hara thought. The young man was leaning back against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankle, calmly reading a newspaper.

His head was angled so that the paper hid most of his face, but O'Hara could see that his eyes were darting from side-to-side. _Either he's a super speed-reader, or he's keeping an eye out for something. _

Given the current circumstances, it was perfectly reasonable for people to be uneasy and on edge. Given those same circumstances, though, O'Hara certainly wasn't going to take any chances.

He maneuvered through the crowd until he was standing alongside the bench where the man sat. The man stiffened slightly, shifting imperceptibly in his seat as he glanced briefly at O'Hara out of the corner of his eye before quickly turning his attention back to the newspaper.

Calmly, nonchalantly, O'Hara leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nice day, isn't it?" he asked casually. The man nodded curtly, not looking up.

O'Hara indicated his backpack. "You going home for the weekend?" Another nod, still no eye contact.

"Taking a break from studying?" he added with a smile. "School wasn't my thing; I wasn't a good student at all. I was the typical jock. Played basketball all through high school. Do you play any sports?"

"No." The man shook his head, the slightest hint of a smile briefly crossing his lips. "My brother is the athletic one. He plays soccer. I like books, not sports."

"Well, good for you. What are you studying?"

"Chemistry," he answered.

"You like science?" O'Hara smiled. "My son does, too. He's in high school. Typical guy; he likes all the experiments with fire and chemicals." He shook his head. "Not me."

He angled his head, looking down at the front page of the paper. A photo of the bombed-out bus and debris-strewn street was splashed across the page with a bold headline: **"TRANSIT TERROR: BOMBINGS KILL 85, INJURE 102."**

"Tragic, isn't it?" he said grimly, indicating the article. "Just awful."

The man nodded, meeting his gaze briefly. "Yes, it's a horrible thing."

His answer came too quickly. His body language gave every indication that he wanted to be anywhere but here, and that he couldn't get away from O'Hara quickly enough.

His gaze landed on the large clock nearby, and he abruptly closed the newspaper and got to his feet. "I have to go now." He nodded towards the growing line of passengers slowly making their way through the newly implemented security check. "Really slows everything down, you know?"

O'Hara nodded in understanding. "Better safe than sorry, though, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, of course." The young man nodded as he carefully picked up his backpack and took a step forward. "It was nice talking with you. Excuse me."

O'Hara placed a hand on the man's backpack strap, stopping him. He frowned as he felt the weight of the bag. "This is pretty heavy. What do you have in here?"

"Books. I have a big paper to write this weekend, so I went to the library." The young man made a face. "And clothes and things for the weekend."

"Oh, of course." O'Hara smiled. "Mind if I take a look?" he asked. "Just being careful, you know. Extra precautions."

"I have nothing to hide."

"I never said you did." O'Hara kept his tone calm. "We're just being careful, considering what's been going on lately." He indicated the security checkpoint. "Everyone has to go through extra security."

"The officer there already cleared me."

_Oh, she did, did she?_ O'Hara glanced back and forth between the security checkpoint and where they stood, gauging the distance. He shook his head. _I don't think so._

The man tried to sidestep around him. "Excuse me, please. I need to go before I miss my train."

O'Hara blocked his path. "The next train out of here won't be coming in for another fifteen minutes. You have plenty of time. I promise I won't take too much of your time. May I see your bag now, please?" It was an order, not a request.

The man's dark eyes flashed. "I have done nothing wrong, I assure you."

"Then why are you so nervous?"

He threw up his hands. "Everyone is nervous, Officer. The terror alert level is heightened to Red. They don't do that without a good reason, you know. People have a perfectly good reason to be on edge."

The man's eyes were darting from side to side, and O'Hara could see his hands trembling visibly. His tone was sharp, but the anger did nothing to conceal the tremor in his voice.

O'Hara shook his head. "I've been a police officer for twenty years. I know the difference between someone who's afraid and someone who's trying to avoid detection." He took another step closer.

The man's hand drifted to the backpack strap on his shoulder and lifted it. O'Hara relaxed ever so slightly.

Then there was a faint but audible click, and the man bolted, knocking O'Hara aside.

_No! _

O'Hara reacted instantly, regaining his balance and lunging forward. In one swift movement, he drove his shoulder into the terrorist's chest like a football tackle and yanked his hand out of his pocket, hearing something small and metallic hit the floor. A well-placed kick swept the man's legs out from underneath him and sent them both crashing to the floor.

The surprised and terrified passengers scattered in panic.

Footsteps pounded on the tile floor as several nearby officers descended on the scene with guns drawn.

Kathy Reese knelt to pick up the small silver cylinder as it rolled across the floor. "This was in his pocket?" O'Hara nodded, and she grimly held up the detonator for him to see.

"Help me get this thing off of him," O'Hara ordered. Moving with extreme caution, three officers gingerly eased the straps of the green canvas backpack off of the terrorist's shoulders and sat it on the floor. "Keep an eye on that detonator, Kathy."

O'Hara carefully shifted position, keeping the man pinned to the floor with a knee in the middle of his back. "Someone call CTU and let them know what's going on here."

_And so it continues...TBC..._

_(A/N: Random note - Play reference, ahoy! "Kathy Reese" and "Mark O'Hara" were the names of two police detectives in the play that I was in at school. Decided that their names were good ones for my officers here as well.)  
_


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

"Is everyone here?" Chloe glanced at the agents sitting around the long table in CTU's conference room. "Where's Renee?" she asked Jack.

"On the phone," William answered from the other end of the table.

As if on cue, the door opened and Renee stepped into the room, tucking her cell phone back into her jacket pocket.

"Apparently, there was an attempted suicide bombing at LA Union Station," she said as she slipped into a chair between Jack and Quinn. "A police officer assigned to security there noticed a man who he thought was acting suspicious, and when he approached him, the guy tried to knock him out of the way and make a run for it. As it turns out, his backpack was wired with explosives and a detonator."

Several faces blanched.

"Close call," William said grimly. _"Too_ close. Where's the suspect now?" he added.

Renee grimaced. "He committed suicide with a cyanide capsule before they were able to take him into custody."

William shook his head.

"Looks like Ansar Inshallah's next wave of attacks is beginning." Quinn exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair.

"Do we have any intel on the explosives that this guy used?" Jake Ziegler asked.

"Not much," Renee answered, glancing at her notes, "but the forensics teams' initial impression is that at least some of them are military-grade plastique that was manufactured in Iraq."

The wall-mounted monitor behind her lit up with a satellite map image. "And that brings us to another point. This is the city of Al-Bayji, one hundred and thirty miles north of Baghdad. During the regime of Saddam Hussein, it was a major industrial center. It housed the largest oil refinery in Iraq, along with a large power plant and several important weapon and chemical plants."

The monitor display changed to a closer overhead view of a sprawling compound of concrete buildings. "It's also the location of what apparently was a chemical-warfare training facility. In March 2003, US troops searching the compound found training manuals, decontamination equipment, gas masks, and atropine injectors."

Several images of weapons stockpiles filled the screen. "In addition to the chemical-warfare supplies, they also found a massive ordnance warehouse that was four miles long by five miles wide. An army colonel described it as, 'the biggest ammo dump he'd ever seen.' There were approximately five hundred bunkers and ninety-five steel buildings filled with weapons and ammunition." Murmurs rippled through the room. "The teams found stockpiles of Jordanian artillery rounds, Italian land mines, and Saudi small-arms ammo, along with over ten thousand rocket-propelled grenades, shoulder launchers, surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles."

"Sounds like a catastrophe waiting to happen," Arlo remarked, glancing up from his laptop.

"It gets worse," Renee informed him. The weapons stockpiles were replaced with photos of rusty fence posts and blood-soaked camouflage fatigues. "At some point, there was a tall fence and heavy gate around this compound, and it was guarded. By the time coalition forces discovered it, the gate had been broken down and all of the fencing removed, leaving it completely exposed. The only indication they found of the guards was a pile of bloody and torn military uniforms and empty holsters. No bodies or weapons anywhere in sight. And quite a few of the ordnance containers were open and empty."

"Let me guess," Quinn said grimly. "This is where Ansar Inshallah got their weapons."

"Most likely," Renee replied.

A photo of two burned-out American military Humvees, with blood covering the doors and hood, flashed onto the screen. "About a month after that discovery, a US Army squad conducting a routine patrol was ambushed outside of Nasiriyah. All of the soldiers, both the living and the deceased, were seized by Iraqi insurgents. Four of them were recovered alive in a rescue mission two weeks later, and six bodies were retrieved along with them. Their weapons were never found."

"That is, until now." The familiar photo of Mahmoud al-Qasim's M4 appeared. "Forensics teams are absolutely confident that _this_ rifle from al-Qasim's school shooting came from that Nasiriyah ambush."

She paused, letting that register, then added, "And preliminary reports are indicating that the explosives used by Khaled Azmi in the bus bombing and our attempted bomber in Union Station came from the ordnance warehouse in Al-Bayji."

The assembled agents were silent, stunned by this latest intricate development.

Without another word, Renee sat down in her chair and glanced towards Chloe, turning the rest of the briefing over to her.

_**TBC!**_

A/N: Once again, facts and fiction collide. That ordnance warehouse in Al-Bayji, Iraq, is real. US Army soldiers discovered it in 2003. The part about the dead guards came from my imagination, but it is true that the fencing had been removed, the warehouse was exposed, and a lot of the weapons were missing. The rest of them were seized by the US military so they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.

The Nasiriyah ambush that supplied Mahmoud al-Qasim with his weapon of choice is based on the real-life ambush and capture of PFC Jessica Lynch on March 23, 2003. Her supply convoy took a wrong turn into the insurgent-stronghold city of Nasiriyah, and were ambushed and captured by Iraqi insurgents. 6 of the soldiers were captured alive and 9 were killed during the fighting. All 15 of them were seized by insurgents. Jessica Lynch and the 9 deceased soldiers were recovered from a hospital in Baghdad (another insurgent stronghold) on April 1 and the remaining 5 POW's were rescued on April 21, 2003.

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	28. Chapter 28

"Happy anniversary" to this story! I started it a little over a year ago – the first chapter was published here on July 2, 2010.

Here's another chapter for you!

* * *

Chapter 28

As the agents studied the images displayed on the screen, William spoke up.

"So we know where Ansar Inshallah is getting at least some of their weapons. The question is, how are they getting it all into the country?"

"It doesn't take much effort to field-strip a rifle and disassemble it. The M4's and AK-47's could have been broken down and then reassembled once they were inside the US," Jack answered.

William frowned slightly. "Based on what we've seen, they have a steady supply of funds and weapons. Seems like it would be pretty hard to keep that under the radar, even if the rifles were stripped and concealed."

"Border crossings?" Jake Ziegler suggested. "Tons of drugs and weapons are smuggled in from Mexico and South America."

"Or shipping containers," Quinn spoke up. "How many cargo ships travel in and out of US ports every day? There's no way to give every single one of them a careful search. If the right person is paid enough, they might look the other way while something extra is added to their cargo." He leaned forward in his chair. "And, of course, manifests can be altered. Vladimir Bierko's organization smuggled nerve gas into the country inside containers that were supposedly carrying medical supplies."

"Something tells me that if we look at cargo lists, we'll find some discrepancies. Or shipments that _mysteriously disappeared,"_ Ziegler said meaningfully, making air quotes with his fingers.

"That seems likely. I think it's definitely worth looking into." Renee nodded. "Let's start with some lists from ships that originated from Middle-Eastern ports, and then we can expand into Europe. Remember, regardless of how good of a job Anika Jankovic did in passing herself off as Iraqi Yazidi, she was Serbian. I don't doubt that Abdul Hamad, or even Zahir Assef himself, had her trafficking weapons for them. Ansar Inshallah probably has at least a few contacts in Europe."

"I'm on it," Arlo said immediately.

"Do we have any _good_ news?" one of the TAC agents asked wearily, running a hand over his face.

Before Renee or Quinn could answer, there was a quiet tap on the door. A slender red-haired young woman poked her head into the conference room. "Sorry to interrupt," she said apologetically. "Agent Walker, you have a phone call on line two. Someone from FBI forensics. They either want to talk with you or with Chloe O'Brian."

"Patch them through," Chloe said in her usual brusque manner, motioning to the phone in the center of the table. The woman nodded and left the room as abruptly as she'd come.

The phone beeped with an incoming call a few moments later. "CTU, Chloe O'Brian," Chloe answered.

"Ms. O'Brian, this is Todd Wilson with FBI forensics."

Chloe pressed the speaker button on the phone. "Renee Walker is here with me. You're on speaker in the CTU conference room."

Renee leaned forward. "Agent Wilson, one of your technicians lifted a partial print from the blast site. Where are you with an ID on that?"

"We have a positive ID," the agent informed her. "That's why I called you. I thought you needed to see this as soon as possible." The sound of typing could be heard faintly in the background. "I'm sending you the results. You should have them now."

Chloe's fingers flew over her laptop keyboard, the keys clicking rapidly. "I've got it."

"We ran the print through the state and national databases first, and got this," Todd Wilson explained. A photo flashed onto the wall monitor for all the agents to see, depicting a man with close-cropped dark hair and a short beard.

"His name is Samir Haytham. Record check came back clean, no criminal record. He's married and has a five-year-old son. His wife's name is Nadirah, and their son is Adam. All three of them have I-94 cards on file with USCIS and Immigration; they're apparently Iraqi refugees who were granted asylum and came to the United States two years ago."

"That doesn't make sense." Quinn shook his head. "If Haytham requested and received political asylum and protection, why are his prints showing up at the scene of a terror attack against the same country that's sheltering him? That sounds like a bogus cover."

"My thoughts exactly," the agent replied. "So we ran the prints through Interpol's database, and got quite a surprise."

A second picture appeared on the screen. This one was a crisp, clear surveillance photo taken with a zoom lens, and the man obviously had no idea that someone was photographing him. He was dressed in worn jeans and a loose black long-sleeved shirt, and a black-and-white checkered _khaffiyeh_ scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. His beard was longer and fuller, but there was no doubt that it was the same person.

"This was taken three years ago in Al-Bayji, Iraq," Todd Wilson informed them. "Different location and different name, but it's the same person. This is Samir Haytham. Also known as Zahir Assef, the head of Ansar Inshallah."

_TBC..._


	29. Chapter 29

Here's a new chapter for you!

* * *

Chapter 29

The agents in the CTU conference room sat in stunned silence.

Quinn found his voice first. "My God," he said in a low voice. "He was living right underneath our noses."

"Just like Habib Marwan," Jack remarked. "He couldn't resist coming out of hiding to watch his plans unfold in the US."

William looked at the handful of TAC agents gathered around the table. "Sooner or later, this is going to get leaked to the media. God only knows what else Assef has up his sleeve, and there's no telling what he'll do when he finds out that he's been compromised. I think we need to organize a tactical op as soon as possible and bring him in."

"Agreed." Renee nodded. "Thank you, Agent Wilson," she added to the phone. "I'll keep CIRG informed."

"Please do." With that, Todd Wilson ended the call.

Renee glanced at William. "I may be the CIRG liaison, but you're the head of field ops. How do you want to handle this?"

"I think we should keep this one straightforward. No undercover work, just a straight TAC mission. Although you did a very nice job with the worried-mother persona during our pharmacy op," he added with a smile. Renee smiled slightly in reply.

"Assef is probably armed," Jack spoke up. "Even if he's not carrying a weapon, I don't doubt that he has at least one easily accessible in the house."

William nodded. "Agreed. But remember, he has a wife and son. If we can help it, I don't want to terrify them by bursting into the house with a fully armed TAC team."

"I want to know about Assef's wife," Ziegler said from the other end of the table. "He obviously used the I-94 as a cover to gain entry to the United States. But what's her role in all this? Is she innocent, unaware of what he's doing, or is she working with him?"

William leaned forward. "I think we send two or three people into the house, armed but non-confrontational. Talk to his wife and son, see what they can give us. If Assef isn't there, we'll see if the wife can tell us where to find him and go from there. We'll have a team on the premises, somewhere out of sight. If Assef is there, the team can move in and take him. Thoughts?" he added, indicating the TAC agents gathered around the table.

"I think that's as good of a plan as we're going to get," Ziegler said. "It's a lot of _if_, but I think we're just going to have to take the chance. There are a lot of factors that we won't know until we get there."

William glanced at the assembled agents. "Renee, I think Assef's wife will be more comfortable with you as a female agent. Are you okay with going in on the initial team?"

She nodded calmly. "That's fine."

"I'm going to send Jack in with you." William smiled slightly as Jack immediately nodded in consent. "You two will be armed, but not excessively. Standard field gear should do. Quinn and Carson, I'm assigning you as backup. You'll be fully armed."

The four agents nodded in understanding.

"All right." William got to his feet. "I'll meet you in the armory."

_TBC!_


	30. Chapter 30

A few people have asked about Jack and Renee's relationship in this story. Yes, they did sleep together before Renee was shot. So, assume that all the little "moments" in this story are coming after that scene. I know their relationship hasn't been very physical in this fic, but I didn't think that that would fit well in this storyline. For now, they're keeping the relationship professional, with occasional moments of fluff, flirting, and cuteness. :-)

And now, on to the next chapter. Let me say again (because I can never say it enough) – Thank you for all of the reviews and comments! I truly appreciate it. I love to write, and your input makes it even more enjoyable!

* * *

Chapter 30

As the two CTU-issue SUV's made their way through the streets of downtown Los Angeles, William was the sole occupant of the first vehicle carrying the assorted tactical gear, leaving the other four agents to fill the second.

Renee surveyed their surroundings as they drove down a tree-lined street in one of LA's middle-class neighborhoods. The houses were not overly extravagant, but they had a comfortable lived-in look about them. She smiled as she watched a young boy romping through his front yard with a gangly-legged black Labrador puppy.

The two-car convoy came to a stop in front of a white two-story house. There was a child-sized basketball hoop in the driveway, and a small boy's Spiderman bike leaned against the garage door. A carefully tended garden of colorful flowers ran alongside the sidewalk leading to the front porch.

Renee leaned against the second SUV's passenger door as she adjusted the straps on her Kevlar vest and ensured that the pistol holstered at her hip was loaded and the safety catch on. She had traded her dark blue FBI field jacket for a pale purple long-sleeved shirt and dark blue jeans. Next to her, Jack methodically went through the same motions. He was dressed just as simply, in a gray long-sleeved shirt, worn black jeans, and combat boots.

In contrast to the two of them, Carson and Quinn were clad in full body armor and holding tactical assault rifles.

William glanced at the four agents gathered around the cars. "Here's our plan. Renee and Jack, you two look fairly non-threatening. You're going to go in and talk with Assef's wife and son." He indicated Quinn and Carson. "We want to keep this as low-profile as possible, so I'm going to wait here with you two unless they call for backup. Understand?" The agents nodded. "All right, then. Let's go."

Renee followed Jack towards the front door. As they sidestepped a soccer ball that had been abandoned on the sidewalk, she gently nudged it into the grass.

They heard the doorbell chime inside the house as Jack pressed the button. After several moments with no response, he knocked politely but firmly on the door. This time, the knock was answered by hurried footsteps. "Coming," a woman's voice called.

Locks clicked, and the door swung open. The woman standing in the doorway was dressed in Western clothes, a simple but elegant red blouse and blue jeans, that contrasted with the traditional Muslim _hijab_ scarf covering her hair.

"_Asalaam alaikum,"_ Renee said politely. "Are you Nadirah Haytham?" she asked in Arabic.

"_Wa-laikum asalaam,"_ the woman replied. "I speak English," she added in lightly accented English. "Yes, I am Nadirah."

Renee pulled a small black folder from her pocket and flipped it open to display her badge. "May we come inside?"

Nadirah's gaze drifted over their Kevlar vests and holstered pistols. "You are police?" she asked hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"

_You tell us,_ Renee thought as she and Jack stepped through the doorway into the foyer.

A young boy ducked behind Nadirah, peering out at Jack and Renee from behind her leg. She smiled down at him. "This is Adam. Say hello," she coaxed him in Arabic.

"_Salaam,"_ he said shyly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack crouched down to the boy's level. "What do you have there?" Adam held out the marble that he was rolling through his fingers. _"Rukhaam,"_ Jack said carefully in Arabic, pointing towards the small multi-colored marble. His clumsy attempt at speaking Arabic brought a smile to both the boy and his mother. Adam nodded, indicating that Jack had gotten the word correct.

"_Kayf amrik?"_ Renee asked, in her considerably better Arabic. "How old are you?"

"_Ana khamsa,"_ he replied, displaying five fingers.

"Do you speak English?"

Nadirah shook her head. "A little. He is learning." She gently ruffled her son's hair, switching back to Arabic as she addressed him. "Why don't you go upstairs and play with your trains?"

Adam scampered down the hallway, his Spiderman light-up tennis shoes flashing with every step. As he climbed the stairs, he craned his neck to cast one last curious glance at the two strangers.

Nadirah watched him go, then turned back to Jack and Renee. "Come sit down."

They followed her into the living room and took seats, Jack and Renee on the couch and Nadirah in an armchair across from them. "What is this about?" she asked once they were all seated.

"We're federal agents," Jack said calmly. "We need to ask you some questions."

Nadirah looked wary, but nodded silently.

Renee leaned forward. "Your family has I-94 cards on file with the US government, visas for Iraqi refugees. Where in Iraq are you from?"

"I am from Baghdad, and my husband grew up in Ramadi."

"What made you decide to come to the United States?"

"The fighting," Nadirah answered. "Just like everyone else. We didn't want our son to grow up with all that violence." She smiled slightly. "I miss our home. But here my husband has the opportunity to get a good job, and Adam can learn English and go to school. And it's safer."

"Your English is very good," Renee told her.

Nadirah ducked her head slightly, smiling shyly. "Thank you. My mother taught me. She taught English at the university in Basra. My husband speaks better English, but I am learning."

Jack held out the driver's license photo of Samir Haytham that Agent Wilson had given them. "This is your husband? Samir Haytham?"

Nadirah nodded. "Yes, that's Sami."

"Is he here? We'd like to talk with him too." Jack discreetly studied the woman's face as he asked the question.

Nadirah shook her head. "No, he's not here."

"Did he say anything about where he was going or when he would be back?"

"Some friends of ours are moving into a new house, and he went to help them unpack. He will be back this evening, I think."

"Do you have a lot of friends here? Have people been friendly to you?" Renee asked.

"Oh, yes." Nadirah nodded. "Some people here have been rude, but it was nothing terrible. Most people have been friendly. At the _masjid_—the mosque—we have met many people."

"Do you know your husband's friends well?" Jack spoke up again. "Have you ever been suspicious of them, of things they've said or done?"

Nadirah hesitated. "I have met his friends, but I know their wives and the other women more than the men. I know my husband," she added firmly. "He would not associate with people who do bad things." Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Why are you asking me these questions? What do you want with me, with my husband? Have we done something wrong? Is Sami in some sort of trouble?"

Jack and Renee exchanged glances. "We think that he may not have been honest with you," Renee said carefully.

Nadirah looked completely bewildered. "What do you mean?"

There was no gentle way to break the news, Renee thought. She met Nadirah's gaze and held it. "All of the terrorist attacks that have been happening lately…. Our government has evidence that your husband is involved with Ansar Inshallah."

The woman jerked as though Renee had reached out and slapped her. "What are you saying? You're calling my husband a terrorist?" she asked incredulously. She shook her head vehemently. "No. That's ridiculous. There must be some mistake!"

Jack held out the surveillance photo of Zahir Assef. "Is this your husband?"

Nadirah took the picture from him and studied it. "Yes, that's Sami a few years ago. Where was this taken? How did you get it?"

Jack placed the photo of Samir Haytham's driver's license on the coffee table in front of her. "This is your husband, Samir Haytham." He placed a second printed page alongside it, the Interpol record of Zahir Assef. "You just said that this is Samir." He met her gaze. "That's Zahir Assef, the head of Ansar Inshallah."

Nadirah glanced back and forth between Jack and the two images laid out on the table. "That can't be." She shook her head. "Sami is loyal to this country. He is an honorable man. He would never do something like this! _Never!"_

"She seems genuine," Quinn said in Jack's earpiece. "I don't think she's covering for him. I think she honestly has no idea." He nodded.

Renee's gaze swept over their surroundings, landing on the table in the adjacent dining room. A child's colorful placemat with a map and the flags of the world sat at one end of the table. "Has your husband ever taken any long trips out of the country? By himself, without you and your son?"

Nadirah nodded. "Yes. Once."

"When?" Jack asked. "For how long?"

"It was last year, in November. Not for a long time, only a week. A close friend of his died, and Sami went back to Iraq for the funeral. Adam was sick, so I stayed here with him while Sami went to Baghdad to pay his respects."

Quinn's voice crackled over the comms network again. "Could be the truth. That's a plausible excuse. Then again, it's also an easy cover for a lie."

"I know what you are thinking." Nadirah made eye contact with Jack. "It's not like that. My husband would never do such a despicable thing! He is an honorable man, not a terrorist!"

"I know this is hard for you to believe," Renee said quietly. "But it's the truth. We wouldn't make this up. There's no mistake." Nadirah said nothing. "Many of the people working with Ansar Inshallah have been what we call 'sleeper agents' in English. They have false identities, and are very good at hiding who they really are. Even their closest friends don't suspect them."

"You've seen what Ansar Inshallah has done in America." Jack picked up the printed Interpol profile of Zahir Assef and held it out to Nadirah. "This man is vital to their cause. He's responsible for recruiting and training many people, and supplying them with weapons and money."

"And where would my husband get all of these weapons?" Nadirah asked sharply. "He works at a computer repair store. He's not a soldier. Where would he keep a lot of weapons and money? In this house? Maybe under the bed? Or in the closet?" She swept one hand in an arc. "You want to search the house? Go ahead! Look for these weapons and things. Prove to me that my husband is who you say he is!"

"That's consent," William said over the comms network. "Take the opportunity."

"Does your husband have an office here?" Renee asked Nadirah. "Some place where he can work? We'll start there."

She nodded. "Upstairs. I'll show you."

Silently, Nadirah led Jack and Renee upstairs to the second floor of the house.

_TBC..._


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

As they climbed the stairs and made their way down the hallway, Renee studied the assortment of framed pictures lining the walls. There were family photos, snapshots of Adam, and a mixture of professional artwork and Adam's childish crayon drawings and paintings.

Nadirah stopped in front of the third door on the right. "In here," she said, opening the door and motioning them into the room.

As they stepped through the doorway, Renee and Jack both studied the room's interior. It had obviously been intended for use as a bedroom, as evidenced by the small closet at the far end of the room.

A framed family portrait, surrounded by a collection of smaller framed photos and an assortment of Adam's drawings and coloring-book pages, hung on one wall. There was a prayer rug tucked into one corner of the room, and several items that had obviously come from the family's homeland in the Middle East sat on a shelf above it. A copper vase, a carved wooden horse statue, and several samples of beautiful Arabic calligraphy sat atop a colorful embroidered cloth. There was a large, sturdy desk in the center of the room, and two bookshelves stood on either side of the window behind the desk.

Jack sat down behind the desk and nodded towards an armchair that had been placed alongside one of the bookshelves. "Sit down," he said calmly. "I want you where we can see you." Nadirah settled into the chair without a word, and Jack turned his attention to the computer. "Do you know your husband's password?" he asked, indicating the login screen with its cursor blinking expectantly.

Nadirah shook her head. "Sami is the only one who uses this computer. I've never had any reason to."

"Arlo and I should be able to access it remotely, Jack," Chloe spoke up. "We're working on it now. I'll get back to you when we have something."

"Copy that. Thanks, Chloe."

Nadirah remained in her chair, watching silently as Jack and Renee systematically searched the room.

"Do you know what these have on them?" Jack asked her, holding up a handful of CD's in clear plastic cases.

"Mostly pictures, I think," she answered. "And backups of important files from the computer." Jack placed the stack of discs on the desk and returned to rummaging through the drawers.

"I'll be right back." Renee straightened and pushed herself to her feet, brushing dust from her jeans. Jack nodded, his attention focused on the contents of a three-ring binder from one of the desk drawers.

Renee walked down the hallway to the bathroom that they had passed on their way into the study and closed the door behind her, sidestepping a container of bath toys to reach the toilet.

Two toothbrushes stood in a holder on the counter, a child's small purple one and an adult's simple blue one. A child-sized bath towel, decorated with an image of Spiderman, hung on a rack next to a fluffy pale pink towel that Renee assumed was Nadirah's.

A small wooden stepstool, with "ADAM" painted across its top in brightly colored letters, had been pushed up against the counter. Renee gently nudged it aside and stepped up to the sink to wash her hands.

As she made her way back down the hallway towards the study, her gaze fell on the bedroom door labeled with an identical set of colorful wooden letters. The door was slightly ajar, and Renee peeked into Adam's bedroom to find him lying on his stomach on the floor, pushing a miniature toy train along a set of wooden tracks.

Glancing up, he caught sight of her in the doorway and paused.

"Hi," Renee said casually in Arabic. "Can I come in?"

Adam nodded. "Come see my train," he said eagerly.

Renee crossed the room and sank to her knees on the carpet alongside him. "Where's the train going, Mr. Conductor?" she asked.

"Disneyland," Adam answered promptly.

"Good choice." Renee smiled. She spotted a police car in the jumble of miniature vehicles scattered across the floor and picked it up. "Can the police car come, too?"

Adam grinned. "Okay," he agreed, clearly happy that this grown-up wanted to play along. "Are you a police officer?"

"Sort of," Renee answered. "I'm a federal agent. Instead of protecting a city, we protect the country."

His eyes widened. "The whole country?"

Renee laughed. "Well, I'm not the only one. There are a lot of us, and we all work together to keep the country safe."

She gave the police car a push forward as Adam began crawling across the floor, pushing the line of train cars along the winding track that he had constructed.

Renee gave the police car another push. The tiny car slipped from her grasp and careened onto the track, toppling two of the train cars. "Oops." As she reached to set the derailed cars upright again, her elbow jostled a toy dump truck and spilled its cargo of marbles across the carpet. "Oh, no! Now we have a train crash _and_ a rockslide! I'm making a mess."

Adam laughed out loud.

Renee chuckled as she began collecting the scattered marbles and dropping them back into the dump truck. "These are pretty," she remarked, admiring the colorful swirling patterns. "Where did you get them?"

"Daddy gave them to me," Adam answered.

Renee smiled as she scooped up another handful of marbles.

Something sharp nicked the tip of her right thumb. "Ouch!" She dropped the marbles and jerked her hand back, examining the small bleeding cut.

Adam glanced up in surprise. "What?"

"I don't know. I hurt my finger." Frowning, she carefully poked through the small pile of marbles.

Her gaze landed on two pale blue marbles sparkling with flecks of silver glitter, one of which was nearly split in two by a large crack in its surface. "Adam, where did you get these?" she asked, deliberately keeping her tone calm. "Did your daddy give them to you?"

He shook his head. "No, I found them."

"Where?"

"On the floor in his office."

Taking a deep breath, Renee got to her feet and picked up the marbles. "I'll be back in a little while."

"We're in, Jack," Chloe informed him. "I'm looking through the files now. So far, there's nothing out of the ordin — " She stopped mid-sentence. "Assef has three folders buried on his hard drive. They're well-hidden, and all three are password-protected and heavily encrypted. Whoever did the encryption obviously knew what they were doing."

"How long will it take you to access them?"

"By myself, at least an hour," she answered. "Less with Arlo helping. We're working on it now."

"Thanks, Chloe."

Jack and Nadirah both glanced up as Renee stepped back into the study. "I found these in Adam's room." She held out the marbles. "He says he found them on the floor in here. Identical to the fragment that FBI forensics lifted Assef's fingerprint from at the blast site."

"And this makes my husband a terrorist, because my son likes to play with marbles?" Nadirah asked sharply.

"No. Because these are the same kind of marbles that were used as shrapnel in the bombings and found at the scene with his fingerprints on them," Renee answered, politely but firmly. "Look at the crack in this one." She held it out to Jack. "It's split almost into two pieces, and the edges are razor-sharp. That wouldn't happen unless someone purposely tried to break it. And the only reason I can think of that someone would need a broken, sharp-edged marble would be to create shrapnel."

Nadirah pressed her lips together in a thin line and said nothing.

"Have you searched the closet yet?" Renee asked, nodding towards the closet at the far end of the room. Jack shook his head as he pulled the door open.

A few empty hangers had been pushed to one side of the closet, and several cardboard boxes had been stacked against the back wall. "Do you know what your husband keeps in here?" Jack said over his shoulder as he began pulling the boxes away from the wall.

Before Nadirah could answer, Renee leaned over the stack of boxes to study the wall more closely. "Jack, look at this." Her fingertips brushed a hair-thin crack in the drywall that was almost undetectable. Curiously, she slid a fingernail into the crack and gave a careful tug. "This isn't a crack in the wall. It's a panel. A very carefully hidden panel."

A square section of drywall yielded to Renee's touch as she gently tugged it loose, and the panel fell away to reveal a small, smooth metal door nestled into the wall.

Jack swung around to face Nadirah. "Did you know this was here?" he demanded.

She shook her head, looking stunned. "No, I didn't. What is it?"

"A safe," Renee answered, setting the panel of drywall aside. "Built into the wall and hidden behind a panel where no one would find it." She ran her fingers over the tiny keyhole. "There's no combination. It needs a key."

"Check the desk," Jack said curtly, his jaw clenching. "Do you have any idea where your husband might have kept a key?" he asked Nadirah. She shook her head wordlessly.

While Jack methodically searched the filing cabinet and bookshelves, Renee rummaged through the contents of the desk drawers for a second time. "Nothing," she said, closing the larger bottom drawer with a bang and moving on to the smaller top drawer. "Office supplies. No key."

"Files and paperwork," Jack said from the corner as he carefully felt the sides and bottom of each drawer in the filing cabinet. "And a key," he added suddenly. "Taped to the bottom of one of the drawers, hidden by the folders."

Renee caught the small metal key as Jack tossed it to her, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned. There was a faint click, and the safe door swung open.

Two loaded Glock 9mm pistols sat atop a manila folder and a sealed envelope bulging with papers.

All color drained from Nadirah's face as she stared at the safe's contents.

Renee lifted the two sleek black handguns from the safe and set them on the desk, then picked up the manila folder and envelope. As she tore the envelope open and turned it upside down, three passports and several rubber-banded stacks of money tumbled onto the desk with muffled thumps. "Jordanian, Syrian, and Saudi Arabian passports. Each one has a different alias, but the same photo. And here are two thousand American dollars, nine hundred Jordanian _dinars_, and a thousand Saudi _riyals."_ She glanced at Nadirah. "I assume you don't know where any of this came from or what he was planning to do with it."

Nadirah shook her head wordlessly, her gaze fixed on the passports, money, and two handguns sitting in the middle of her husband's desk.

Jack tossed the cordless phone down on the desk in front of her. "Your husband has a lot to answer for. Call him," he ordered. "Tell him that you need him to come home."

"All right." With a trembling hand, she picked up the phone. "What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you need to say to get him to come. Don't give any indication that we're here," Jack warned.

Nadirah nodded silently as she shakily dialed and held the phone to her ear. She waited through three rings before Jack heard a muffled male voice answering.

"Sami, it's me," Nadirah said, sinking back down into her chair. Jack heard her voice trembling slightly, and he prayed that Assef didn't.

"How are things there?" Nadirah listened, then smiled slightly. _"Al-hamdulillah._ That's good. How are Malik and Zahra?" Another answer, another smile. "Tell Zahra that I'll come tomorrow with Adam."

Nadirah hesitated. "When do you think you'll be home? Soon?" She shook her head, biting her lip as she glanced at Jack. "No, nothing's wrong. Just... We were hoping that you'd be finished soon." She nodded. "Yes, I'll do that. All right."

Jack took the phone from her and replaced it in its cradle. "What did he say?"

"He says he will be home in fifteen minutes." Nadirah leaned back in her chair and ran a trembling hand over her face.

"You did fine," Renee said gently. "Thank you."

Nadirah nodded silently, not meeting her gaze.

_TBC_


	32. Chapter 32

Here we go with another chapter! This one's kind of short, but the action will pick back up soon. :-)

My new semester of classes started this week, and my schedule is sort of funky (although nowhere NEAR as crazy and busy as last semester – at least I hope not!), so now summer's over and it's back to the usual routine.

Regarding the use of marbles in the bombings: Marbles, screws, ball bearings, and things like that are very commonly used in suicide bombing attacks. The force of the explosion breaks them apart into tiny, razor-sharp pieces that turn into flying projectiles, and they do a horrible amount of damage to whatever is in their path, whether that is buildings or people. Not nice at all.

Anyway, here's another chapter for you!

* * *

Chapter 32

"Assef's innocent-refugee cover is blown," Renee informed the three patiently waiting TAC agents. "We found three passports, close to four thousand dollars in American, Jordanian, and Saudi currency, and two loaded pistols in a hidden wall safe in his office. Nadirah just talked with him. He's on his way home, ETA fifteen minutes. How do you want to handle this?"

"Things could get ugly in a hurry," Quinn remarked. "I'd feel more comfortable in the house than out here."

Through her comms earpiece, Renee heard the muffled sound of three car doors opening and closing. Jack was already heading for the stairs, and Renee motioned to Nadirah.

As the two women reached the bottom of the stairs, there was a quiet but urgent knock at the front door. Jack was already standing with one hand on the doorknob, and he quickly opened the door and let William, Quinn, and Carson into the house. William stepped forward and extended his hand. "Mrs. Haytham, I'm Agent William McDonnell, and these are Eric Carson and Marcus Quinn."

Nadirah politely returned his handshake, but she was at a loss for words as her gaze traveled back and forth between Jack and Renee, and the three armed TAC agents that were now standing in the foyer.

Quinn spoke up. "You found some things that your husband had in a safe? What were they?"

Nadirah nodded, and her voice trembled as she answered. "There were three passports... a lot of money... and two guns." She took a deep breath. "Upstairs in his office. I'll show you."

As they climbed the stairs, Adam appeared in the doorway of his bedroom. "Mama?" His eyes widened as he caught sight of William, Carson, and Quinn. "Who are they?" he asked fearfully in Arabic, glancing back and forth between his mother and Renee.

Renee pictured the scene from his perspective: three unknown men, dressed in black body armor and carrying tactical assault rifles. _"Ma'fi mushkilaah,"_ she said calmly in Arabic. "It's okay."

Adam slowly edged towards his mother. "Why are they here?" He watched as the three TAC agents stepped past Nadirah and into the office, where the passports, money, and handguns were still spread across the desk. "Is Daddy in trouble?"

Nadirah looked helplessly at Renee. _How do I explain this?_

"No," Renee said after a few moments of silence. "He just made some mistakes, and we're here to talk with him about them. We want to help him figure out what he did wrong." For the time being, that was explanation enough. The truth could come later, she thought.

William stepped back into the hallway. "Assef's ETA is about six minutes," he informed the four agents, glancing quickly at his watch. "Jack and Renee, I want you somewhere near the living room. Quinn and I will be in the kitchen, and Carson will be upstairs. We'll all be out of his initial line of sight, but close by and ready to move."

Nadirah glanced at him. "My husband isn't... He wouldn't..." Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

William met her gaze. "With all due respect, Mrs. Haytham, the man you know is Samir Haytham. The man we're dealing with is Zahir Assef, a completely different person."

Nadirah bit her lip and nodded silently.

The five agents took up their positions and settled in to wait.

_TBC!_


	33. Chapter 33

Here's another chapter for you! Hopefully this rather massive update will make up for the slight shortness of the previous chapter? :-)

For those reading this who are my fellow Americans: Yesterday marked the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001, terror attacks on our nation. 2,981 people lost their lives in New York City, Washington DC, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania on that awful day, including the passengers aboard United Flight 93 who fought back and sacrificed their lives to prevent another high-casualty attack. Please remember the families who lost loved ones, as well as the brave firefighters, police officers, and soldiers who defend us.

Given that, I think this chapter is rather appropriate...

Chapter 33

Jack leaned back against the wall, pressing himself as far into the corner of the living room as possible. Across the room, Renee did the same. William, Quinn, and Carson had disappeared soundlessly into other parts of the house. All five of them were on alert, listening intently for any sign of Assef's approach.

A car door slammed in the driveway.

"That's him," William said quietly from the kitchen.

The sound of two more doors closing and power locks clicking came from the driveway. "That's not one person," Renee murmured as footsteps made their way up the front sidewalk. "It's three. Assef brought company with him." She motioned for Nadirah to look out the window. "Do you recognize those two men?"

"They're friends of Sami's. They've been helping some friends of ours move into a new house today."

"Do you know them?" Renee asked her.

Nadirah shrugged. "Until today, I thought I knew my husband."

_Point taken._

"Quinn, Carson, we've got company," William informed the two agents. "Assef brought two people with him. Nadirah knows who they are, but we don't know their intentions. Stay alert."

"Copy that," Quinn acknowledged. There was a faint metallic click as his assault rifle chambered a round.

A key turned in the lock, and the front door swung open. Zahir Assef and his guests entered the house, accompanied by a burst of laughter as their conversation continued.

Nadirah hurried in from the kitchen. "Good, you're home! And Ziad and Hamid, _ahlan, kayf haalek?"_ she added with a smile, addressing the two men standing behind her husband. The four of them exchanged the standard respectful Arabic greetings and pleasantries. Nadirah carefully steered them towards the couches in the large, open family room – the opposite direction from where Renee and Jack were positioned in the living room.

"So, are Malik and Zahra settled into their new house?" she asked cheerfully. "Did you get everything unpacked?"

"_Al-hamdulillah, _we did," Hamid replied. "Things went very well."

Ziad answered with something that Renee couldn't hear, and all three men laughed.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?" Nadirah asked suddenly. Her husband declined and shook his head, but his guests accepted the offer gratefully.

William took a single step backwards, adjusting his position in the corner, and Quinn locked eyes with Nadirah and held a finger to his lips as she entered the kitchen. She glanced at them, then turned away and pulled a plastic pitcher from the refrigerator.

She quickly prepared a tray with three glasses of iced tea and stepped back into the family room, giving no indication of the two armed federal agents standing on the other side of the wall in the kitchen.

Ziad and Hamid stood to accept their drinks from Nadirah. Renee tensed as she caught sight of small bulges in the waistband of their jeans, concealed beneath their un-tucked shirts. _Concealed-carry holsters._ "Jack," she whispered, barely moving her lips. "Waistband holsters, both of them. They're armed."

He glanced at the two men and nodded, frowning.

As Assef addressed Nadirah, Jack suddenly noticed a shift in his demeanor. The smile and cheerful voice were still present, but now there was an undertone that made Jack uneasy. He thought back to Nadirah's phone conversation and felt a sense of dread. _God, don't let him be suspicious!_

Nadirah answered sharply, too quietly for the agents to hear.

"I don't like it," Quinn muttered. "Something's wrong here."

Before anyone could answer, Assef slammed his hand down on the coffee table so violently that all three glasses rattled. Ziad leaped to his feet, shouting something indistinguishable, and Renee realized that his anger was directed not at Assef but rather Nadirah.

"Not good," William said urgently. "We've got a — "

As if in slow motion, Renee watched as Ziad's hand moved toward the telltale bulge in the back of his waistband. _"Gun!" _she and Quinn yelled in unison.

"Shit!" William cursed as he leaped to his feet. "Move, move!"

In unison, as though they had choreographed the movement, the three men sitting on the couch leaped to their feet and swung around with pistols at the ready.

Nadirah screamed.

Renee surged forward, colliding with Adam at the foot of the stairs as the little boy ran towards the sound of his mother's panic. She heard him cry out sharply as she caught him by the arm, yanked him backwards against her, and lunged towards Nadirah in one fluid motion. Her shoulder drove into Nadirah's back, sending all three of them crashing to the floor and tumbling over one another.

A gunshot cracked, echoing like thunder in the enclosed space, as Assef's first shot went wild and slammed into the wall above their heads. Renee couldn't tell whether the bullet had been intended for her or Nadirah.

Quinn was moving towards the kitchen doorway. Renee unceremoniously shoved the screaming, terrified mother and son towards him and watched as he hauled them into the kitchen. _"Staana!"_ she yelled over her shoulder in Arabic. "Stay there!"

All hell broke loose as bullets began flying in earnest.

Renee dove behind an armchair and returned fire in Assef's direction. Jack cursed as a volley of shots from Ziad crashed into the wall, sending puffs of white plaster and drywall into the air.

A sudden howl of pain came from Hamid as he dropped to the floor, his pistol clattering out of his grasp and skidding across the floor out of reach. Carson looked grimly satisfied as he ducked behind the wall for cover and slapped a fresh new magazine into his assault rifle.

The room echoed with the sound of gunfire, the staccato overlapping sharp cracks of shots being fired and returned.

Searing pain tore through Carson's right shoulder, and he nearly lost his grip on his gun as he recoiled with a grunt and a curse. He scowled at the dark crimson blood seeping through his sleeve.

"You hit?" Quinn shouted over his shoulder, leaning around the side of the couch to fire a shot at Assef.

Carson shook his head. "Graze wound," he shouted back, gritting his teeth against the pain as he directed another volley of bullets towards Ziad and Assef.

In the next instant, a lightning bolt of white-hot pain shot through Renee's chest as a sudden impact threw her backwards onto the floor.

"_Renee!"_ Jack yelled. The only answer that he received was a labored gasp. Renee's eyes were wide with terror as she desperately tried to draw air into her lungs. In horror, Jack noticed blood trickling from the corner of her mouth as her chest heaved. _God, not again!_

On the other side of the room, William and Carson continued exchanging shots with the hostiles.

Quinn fell to his knees alongside Jack and Renee, slid his hands under her arms, and hauled her across the floor and out of the immediate line of fire. "Hit," she gulped between gasps. "Can't...breathe..." His hands were already moving over her chest and sides, loosening the straps on her Kevlar vest and feeling for the bullet's entry point.

Renee's lungs burned. _Can't breathe…._ Her lungs were on fire. She clawed frantically at her Kevlar vest, trying to extinguish the fiery blaze of pain that was spreading through her chest. _Hurts... Blood... Need air... Not again, please, not again!_

A jumble of images tumbled through her mind.

_The muffled hiss and crack of a silenced gunshot, a flash of light reflected in a Russian sniper's scope as he ducked out of sight... The tinkle of glass shards hitting the floor... Searing pain in her chest as she fell to the floor... The metallic, coppery taste of blood in her mouth; gagging and choking and gasping for air as her lungs filled with blood... Jack cradling her in his arms and begging her to hang on... And then nothing but darkness..._

_First Pavel, now Assef,_ she thought dully.

Quinn wiped the trickle of blood away from Renee's mouth and looked at Jack. "There's no entrance wound," he shouted over the gunfire. "The round went into her vest, Jack."

Jack stared at him. "The blood?"

Quinn shook his head. "Her lip. She bit it when she fell."

He leaned over to look at Renee, and saw that her eyes were vacant and her gaze was fixed on some unseen thing in the distance. _Flashback,_ he realized grimly. "Renee, look at me," he urged. "Stay with me. You're all right. I need you to breathe." She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, but Quinn could see that her gaze was unfocused, and knew that she was beyond seeing or hearing him.

Dimly, through the roaring in her ears and the black spots that loomed in her field of vision, Renee saw Jack and Quinn leaning over her and faintly heard Jack's voice calling her name. She felt Quinn gently but firmly shaking her, and saw his lips moving as he spoke to her, but the pain in her chest and fog in her brain refused to allow her to comprehend what he was saying.

The blackness loomed larger and closer, encompassing her vision and thoughts, and she sank into darkness.

Another burst of gunfire abruptly pulled Quinn's attention away from Renee and towards the other pressing matter at hand.

Loading a fresh magazine into his assault rifle, he leaned around the wall and returned fire. There was a cry from the opposite end of the room, and Quinn heard the muffled thump and clatter of a falling body and dropped weapon hitting the floor. _Two down, one to go._

William rose up on his knees from behind the couch, and unleashed a barrage of shots from his assault rifle.

Abruptly, the gunfire ceased and the room grew still.

Exhaling hard, he sank to the floor and sat back on his heels. "CTU, we're clear," he said wearily. "Hostiles are down."

"Copy that." The relief in Chloe's voice was evident.

The first thing that Renee's mind registered was the sudden silence in the room. The second was the dull ache in her chest. Slowly, with effort, she opened her eyes and blinked. "What….?"

"Hey." Instantly, Jack was kneeling next to her. The relief that flooded across his face was immediate and immense. "Jesus, Renee, you scared the hell out of me."

Quinn crouched down on her other side. "You took a round to the chest. How do you feel?"

"Very sore." She grimaced. "Chest hurts."

"That round packed a nice punch. Your vest took the hit, but it was still enough to knock the breath out of you for a while. It didn't break the skin, but you've got a nice bruise. You'll be sore for a while."

Renee slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in her chest, and realized that she was in the middle of the living room floor. Her gaze fell on Carson, leaning against the wall with a crimson stain spreading across his shirt sleeve. "You're hit?"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Hurts like hell, but it's just a graze wound. There's a suture kit in Medical calling my name. I'll live."

Renee surveyed the room, taking in the spent shell casings, bullet-riddled walls and furniture, and blood splatters. "Assef and the others...?"

On the floor near the dining room table, Hamid had bled out in a matter of minutes from two gunshots, one to his chest and the other to the brachial artery in his upper arm. Ziad lay several feet away, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at nothing as blood oozed from a single gunshot wound to his temple.

A faint rasping sound caught Quinn's attention, and he turned to see Zahir Assef slumped against the wall with a dark crimson stain spreading rapidly across the chest and stomach of his shirt. The man's breathing was shallow and labored, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. With great effort, he turned his head slightly and caught sight of Renee sitting on the floor and Carson inspecting the profusely bleeding wound to his shoulder.

The terrorist leader's lips curved in a smile, displaying blood-stained teeth. _"Allahu akbar,"_ he murmured.

Quinn drew in a sharp breath. _"Neek haalek,"_ he retorted harshly, his voice trembling with rage.

"_Ash-hadu an laa ilaha il-Allah, wa Muhammad un rasoul Allah,"_ the man whispered hoarsely, his words so faint that Quinn could barely hear him. The hint of a smile was still on his lips as his eyes slowly closed and his body went limp.

"Three KIA," Quinn said quietly as he surveyed the room. "I repeat, all hostiles are down."

_**TBC...**_

A/N: Here are some Arabic translations for those last few bits of dialogue.

_**"Allahu akbar"**_ is a phrase that simply means, _"God is great"._ It's an exclamation of praise, but it has a negative connotation since terrorists have adopted it as an exhortation/battle cry.

Quinn's reply, _**"Neek haalek"**_- ahem, maybe that one should remain untranslated... ;)

_**"Ash-hadu an laa ilaha il-Allah..."**_ This is a phrase known as the _Shahadah,_ the Muslim creed or declaration of faith. It translates as, _"I bear witness that there is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is His messenger."_ Reciting the _Shahadah_ in front of three witnesses is all that is required to become a Muslim. If possible, these should be the last words spoken before death, as one final profession and confirmation of faith as a Muslim.


	34. Chapter 34

Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter! I enjoyed writing that "final showdown." I see that the scene with Renee scared a lot of you for a few moments – sorry about that! :-)

Here's another chapter for you!

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Chapter 34

Through the ringing in her ears from the sudden silence in the room, Renee gradually became aware of the muffled sobs coming from the kitchen. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pushed herself to her feet, accepting the steadying hand that Quinn offered. Once upright, she cautiously made her way into the kitchen.

Adam and Nadirah were still huddled together on the floor where Renee and Quinn had placed them, as though afraid to move. Adam's arms were wrapped tightly around his mother's neck and his face buried in her shoulder, his small body shaking with sobs.

A stifled cry escaped Nadirah's lips as she heard the approaching footsteps. She closed her eyes and turned away, shielding her son between her body and the wall.

"Easy," Renee said quickly. "It's me." As quickly as her aching body would allow, she crossed the room and lowered herself to the floor in front of the terrified, trembling mother and child. "Are you hurt?"

Nadirah shook her head no, glancing down at her son. "We are fine." Her voice trembled as she answered. "He is just very scared."

Renee gently petted Adam's shoulder. _"Ma'lesh, habibi," _she murmured. "It's okay. You're safe." The boy lifted his head, his cheeks flushed and tear-stained, as he choked back a sob.

Nadirah gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and slowly pulled herself upright. "My... my husband," she said quietly. "Is he...?"

Renee hesitated, then shook her head. "I'm sorry."

Hastily, Quinn made a grab for Adam as Nadirah sagged, falling back against the counter. The boy cried out, his white-knuckled grip tightening around his mother's neck.

_"Ma'lesh," _Renee soothed, nodding to Quinn as he drew his hand back. Fresh tears flowed down Adam's cheeks as he allowed the TAC agent to take him in his arms. Quinn sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around Adam and pulling the boy against his chest. Both of them were oblivious to the awkward and uncomfortable barrier created by Quinn's bulky Kevlar vest as Adam sought comfort in the closest available pair of arms.

"I'm sorry," Renee whispered. "Nadirah, I am so sorry." She knelt in front of Nadirah as the woman clutched a fistful of her _hijab_ and buried her face in the fabric, weeping.

"I want to see him," Nadirah said haltingly after several moments.

Renee and Quinn exchanged glances. "I don't think..." Quinn began.

Nadirah clearly understood their unspoken message. She bit her lip. "Please."

Renee hesitated, then nodded. "Keep Adam here with you," she told Quinn. He nodded, and Renee gently took Nadirah's hand.

As they crossed the threshold into the living room, the blood drained from Nadirah's face. _"Ya Allah,"_ she whispered in horror, staring at the scene that lay before her.

The metallic, coppery scent of spilled blood hung heavily in the air.

Nadirah abruptly jerked her hand away from Renee and whirled around, clamping a hand over her mouth as she rushed from the room. Renee reached the bathroom doorway as the trembling woman fell to her knees on the tiled floor in front of the toilet and retched violently.

Both of them turned at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. As Jack appeared in the bathroom doorway, Nadirah weakly wiped her mouth and straightened her shoulders. "I'm all right," she managed, carefully pushing herself to her feet. Her legs refused to support her, however, and both Jack and Renee leaped to grab one of her arms as her knees buckled.

Slowly, matching their pace to Nadirah's as she took slow and halting steps, Jack and Renee led her to a chair in the kitchen.

"He was going to shoot me," she whispered dazedly, staring at the hands clenched in her lap. "My own husband pointed a gun at me." Fresh tears spilled down Nadirah's cheeks as she lifted her gaze to Renee's. "I knew Ziad and Malik. I loved Sami! I trusted all three of them! _Why?" _she whispered helplessly, the single word overflowing with anguish. "My husband was an honorable man! Why would he do this?"

Renee shook her head silently. There were no answers to her questions.

In the living room, William knelt on the floor next to a bright orange field medical bag, collecting discarded paper wrappers and bloodstained gauze pads. "That will hold until you get to Medical," he said, indicating the tightly wrapped sterile gauze and adhesive tape encasing Eric Carson's right shoulder. "And the shot that I gave you should take the edge off the pain."

The younger agent carefully pushed himself upright, keeping his arm cradled against his chest. "Thanks." William nodded.

"Chloe, where are you with those files?" Quinn asked her.

Her reply crackled over the comms network a few moments later. "We're almost there. The decryption key only needs about three more minutes. You'll be able to see them as soon as it finishes."

"Copy that."

Renee glanced at Nadirah. "I need to..."

She immediately nodded, wiping her eyes. "Of course. Go do your work."

"Nadirah, why don't you come upstairs?" Quinn said quietly. "If you don't mind, I'm going to bring Adam up with us. He doesn't need to stay down here and see all this." Fresh tears welled in her eyes as she nodded, biting her lip.

Still carrying Adam in his arms, Quinn carefully detoured through the family room, shielding the boy from the bloody sight in the living room. Renee slid an arm around Nadirah's shoulder and led her towards the CTU agents standing at the foot of the stairs.

The five agents grimly made their way up the stairs towards the waiting computer in Assef's study, all afraid of what they would find.

At the top of the stairs, Quinn gently lowered Adam to the floor. Nadirah took her son's hand and led him towards his bedroom and the waiting toys.

As the team of agents stepped through the doorway into Assef's study, true to Chloe's word, the contents of the three password-protected folders on the terrorist leader's hard drive were ready and waiting on the screen.

William picked up the two Glock 9mm pistols that sat in the middle of the desk, deftly unloaded both of them, and sat the two full ammunition magazines alongside the now-harmless weapons.

With that accomplished, Renee moved the guns aside and turned her attention to the documents waiting on Assef's computer. The five agents exchanged glances as they grimly gathered around the computer. Renee pulled up the first open file and they began to read.

The three well-hidden and heavily encrypted folders were a treasure trove of terrifying information.

Zahir Assef had carefully and methodically listed the names of all of the men and women who had joined the ranks of _mujahideen _in Ansar Inshallah's jihad.

Along with the lists of names, there were hundreds of pages detailing the lengths that Assef had gone to to prepare his recruits for their missions.

The list of potential target cities included New York City, Washington DC, Los Angeles, Seattle, Chicago, and Orlando.

"Fundamentalist groups like Ansar Inshallah who despise our 'corrupt society' usually focus on three things: Schools, stores, and the media. It looks like Ansar Inshallah came up with plans for how to strike at all three of those things," Renee said grimly.

Ansar Inshallah's sleeper agents had been instructed on the most devastating ways to attack a country's infrastructure. The attackers tasked with these missions had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and the use of weapons ranging from 9mm pistols to car bombs. There were maps of government buildings, military bases, airports, hospitals, grocery stores, shopping malls, movie theaters, and schools – all civilian targets, all designed to terrify the population, paralyze the economy, and bring a nation to its knees.

"My God," William whispered.

No one else spoke as they stared at the computer in stunned, horrified silence.

_TBC..._


	35. Chapter 35

Well, after more than a year of working on this story, here it is: The FINAL chapter! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading! 

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Chapter 35

Renee wearily ran a hand over her face and glanced at her watch. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, but the house was still filled with police officers, FBI, and CTU agents.

Forensics agents swarmed through the first floor of the house, taking photographs, cleaning up blood splatters, collecting shards of glass, fabric fibers, and spent shell casings, and leaving yellow evidence tags in their wake. The bodies of the three deceased terrorists had been carefully photographed, tagged, and finally zipped into black body bags and taken away.

With the help of Assef's now-decrypted detailed list of names and photos, law enforcement and federal agents had swept through Los Angeles and thirteen other cities across the nation in a late-night raid, taking terrorists-in-waiting into custody one by one.

Renee glanced into the kitchen, where Nadirah sat numbly with her hands folded on the table in front of her. _"Kayf haalek?"_ Renee asked gently in Arabic. "How are you doing?"

Nadirah shrugged. "I don't know," she answered dully in English. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from her tears, and glazed over with grief, shock, and sheer exhaustion.

"I've told them all that I know," she said, indicating the FBI CIRG agent who was paging through a notebook. "But what do I tell my son? How do I tell him this?" Her voice trembled. "My husband is dead. Adam and I can't stay in this house. Where do we go? What do we do?"

"For the time being, you'll be taken to one of our safe houses while the initial debriefs and investigations are finished," Renee told her.

For the rest of Nadirah's questions, she had no answers.

"Adam is asleep upstairs, isn't he? For now, why don't you go lie down with him and at least try to get some sleep."

Nadirah nodded. "All right." She met Renee's gaze. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Renee replied quietly.

She walked back into the living room, carefully sidestepping the yellow forensic tags scattered across the floor, and sank down onto the couch. The breath caught in her throat and a stifled gasp escaped her lips as sharp pain flared in her chest. She grimaced, imagining the bruises that lay beneath her Kevlar vest and shirt.

"How are those ribs feeling?" William asked, raising an eyebrow. He held up a capped syringe from the medical bag. "Why don't I give you something for the pain? Not to knock you out, just to take the edge off until you get to Medical."

Renee sighed. "Actually, I would really appreciate that." She rolled up her sleeve and held out her right arm as William uncapped the syringe, located a vein in her forearm, and swabbed the spot with alcohol. Renee felt the sharp prick of the needle, followed by a brief stinging sensation as the medication entered her bloodstream.

"There. Now your ribs will stop screaming at you." William smiled slightly.

"Perfect. Thank you."

William nodded as he walked away, already intent on his next mission.

Renee pushed off the back of the couch and sat fully upright as Quinn approached with PDA in hand. "What've you got?"

The exhaustion showed plainly on his face. "We found an envelope that held keys to a self-storage unit in downtown LA. LAPD sent a team of officers to check it out. Here's what they found."

Renee took the small device from him and scrolled through the emailed images on the screen. "Good Lord," she said, stunned. "It's an armory. Handguns, assault rifles, plastic explosives; you name it and I think it's somewhere in there. Looks like this is what happened to some of the missing ordnance from Al-Bayji."

Quinn nodded grimly. "The boxes looked innocuous enough until they were opened. Definitely not typical contents of a self-storage unit. Take a look at this crate," he added. "Look familiar?" The crate contained wrapped blocks of military-grade plastic explosives, rolls of thick tape, and carefully sorted bags of screws, nails, ball bearings, and the all-too-familiar large blue marbles. "Handmade bomb in a box." Quinn grimaced. "LAPD and the FBI seized it all, and EOD teams are checking it out."

Renee shook her head in disbelief. "Have DOD and Homeland Security been briefed on all this?"

Quinn nodded. "Yes, they have. And they're drafting revised security protocols, just in case."

"Good." Renee sighed. "This isn't over yet."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack appeared from somewhere and fell into step next to Renee as she made her way towards the kitchen. "Hey," he said quietly.

She smiled slightly. "Hi."

"How are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "Fine. Exhausted and sore, but fine. William gave me a shot for the pain."

Jack was silent for a few moments, studying her, and Renee felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "What?"

"I almost lost you like this once already," he said quietly, motioning towards the hand that she was unconsciously cupping over the sore and bruised area on her side. "I don't want to lose you again."

Cupping her chin in his hands, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face with his thumb, and then drew her towards him and kissed her gently.

"You won't," Renee whispered as she leaned into his embrace and returned the kiss.

He kissed her a second time. "Good."

As they pulled apart, Jack wearily ran a hand over his face. "For tonight, our work here is wrapping up. Why don't we go back to my apartment and get a few hours of sleep before we have to be back at CTU for debriefs tomorrow morning? Make that_ later this morning,"_ he added, glancing at the clock.

Renee nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Jack hesitated, then glanced sideways at her with a smile. "After this is all over, would you like to go out to dinner with me? There's a really nice Italian place fairly close to my apartment. Maybe we could go see a movie, too."

Renee laughed out loud. "After all we've been through lately? A school shooting, a hostage situation, suicide bombers, radical terrorist sleeper cells, and a gunshot to the chest? I don't think dinner and a movie will cover that, Jack."

She grinned as he chuckled. "Yes, I'll go with you. I'd love to."

"Great." Jack smiled as he pulled her against him and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Later. For now, let's go home and get some sleep."

_-End-_

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(This is the official end of the story, but there is still another chapter after this one. Chapter 36 is an Author's Note with some more information on the details of this story plot, how I came up with the ideas, and some of the real-world events behind my fictional plot.)


	36. Author's Notes

Just in case you missed it - I posted two chapters at once. Chapter 35, the final chapter of the story, has been posted. This "Chapter 36" is more of an Author's Note. 

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**Author's Notes**

I've had several people ask me where I came up with the ideas for this story. I was never able to think of a way to answer without giving away parts of the plot. Now that it's finished, I can answer!

Here we go...

I am a college student majoring in International Studies, with a focus on Middle Eastern studies. Over the years, I have learned quite a bit about radical Islam and terrorism. Last semester, one of my classes was "Terrorism and Public Policy." We discussed non-religious terrorism and anti-government extremists (like Timothy McVeigh, the man responsible for bombing a federal building in Oklahoma City and killing 168 people in April 1995), hate crimes, white supremacists, and militia groups. Most of the semester was spent on Islamic terrorism, learning in depth about groups like Al Qaeda and the Muslim Brotherhood, and the reasoning and ideology that compel Islamic extremists to become _mujahideen_ (holy warriors for Allah) and _shahideen_ (martyrs).

If you're interested in learning more about those things, I recommend the book _**"Terrorism, Crime, and Public Policy"**_ by Brian Forst. That was our class textbook. It's filled with photos, useful facts, and excellent explanations of terrorism and crime.

Part of the idea for this story came from reading case files about Seung-Hui Cho in one of my classes. Cho was responsible for a shooting rampage on the campus of Virginia Tech University on April 16, 2007, that killed 32 of his schoolmates and teachers and wounded 25. He left behind a 6-page letter and 27 videos explaining the reasoning for his actions – that he was disgusted by "rich kids, materialism, and hedonism (the belief that whatever causes the most pleasure is the right course of action)" and that the shooting was his revenge against them.

That is the same reasoning behind many Islamic fundamentalist radical groups – they are disgusted by the "corrupt and filthy" behavior in Western society, and see attacks against us as a way of removing filth and restoring honor.

I combined that ideology with the idea of sleeper cells being "hidden in plain sight" and emphasizing the thought that "no one is safe", and thus created Ansar Inshallah. The group's name means _"Followers of the Will of Allah."_ Ansar Inshallah is fictional, but I created it from profiles of real-world radical Islamic terrorist groups.

Like the attacks and plans made by Ansar Inshallah in this story, most real-world terrorist groups focus on carrying out specific targeted attacks that are designed to inflict maximum damage, kill as many people as possible, and paralyze a nation with fear and paranoia.

In November 2009, US Army major Nidal Malik Hasan went on a shooting rampage at the Fort Hood military base in Texas, killing 13 and wounding 29 of his fellow soldiers. As it turned out, Hasan was sympathetic to Al Qaeda's cause, he had communicated with high-ranking Al Qaeda members, and his rampage at Fort Hood was a terrorist attack.

In the first days after the shooting, several people wondered if there would be more to come. Soldiers have access to powerful weapons, and they undergo psychological evaluations but no formal background checks or investigations, which would give a sleeper-cell member the perfect opportunity to blend in and bide their time before acting.

Nidal Hasan is a perfect example of a terrorist hidden in plain sight. Somehow, several "red flags" about his behavior and thinking (and communications with Al Qaeda) were missed. No one suspected him, and no one had any idea of what he was planning until the day that he carried out his attack.

As I mentioned before, the plot of Mahmoud al-Qasim/"David Ahmad's" school shooting in Chapters 1-9 was also largely based on my own experiences. I was involved in a school shooting in October of 2006. That situation could potentially have been much worse, but fortunately it ended well. Since then, I have worked with my local police department as a civilian role player for their training exercises. Depending on the tactics that they are working on in a particular exercise, I've played a lot of different characters! Two of the female students who Renee and Jack encounter in Chapter 3 (the badly injured girl in the pink shirt who Renee questions, and Nicole, the panicked girl hiding in the bathroom) are actually characters that I portrayed in a school-shooting simulation exercise in August 2008.

I know this story was a long one – it took me more than a year to write. Thank you so much for following along! I truly appreciate all of the reviews that were left. Your feedback made me smile, laugh, and think as I wrote and re-wrote these chapters. By taking the time to leave comments, ask questions, and tell me what you liked and disliked, you helped me to improve this story.

This is the most in-depth and detail-oriented fanfiction story that I've ever written! My two other long fics, "Lions" (Jack/Audrey AU fic after her return from China) and "Dangerous Times" (Post-Season 5 Jack/Audrey fic about Jack's time in China and his recovery), were lengthy and detailed, but actually writing them was fairly straightforward. This story, on the other hand, required lots of thought and planning. I looked through my terrorism class notes to double-check facts, asked my dad (former police officer) and police friends several questions about tactics and procedures, and searched all sorts of random things on Google!

It was all worth it, though – I LOVE to write, especially stories like this one, and I'm very proud of how this story turned out.

Thanks again for reading!

_~Blue Kangaroo~_


	37. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

**Important A****nnouncement!**

By now, I'm sure you have figured out that I love to write. :-)

I've been writing since I was 6 or 7 years old - most of my stories at that point were about things like princesses, animals, and people going to the hospital and having surgery for various illnesses/injuries (because I spent a huge portion of my childhood in and out of hospitals, and wrote about what was familiar!).

I've been writing ever since, everything from short stories to novel-length projects (most of those in the last four or so years as I became more comfortable with ideas and my ability). The majority of what I write is Christian fiction, medical drama, and political thrillers. And, of course, 24 fan fiction!

Over the years, many people have encouraged me to look into getting my work published. That is one of my dreams, but I was never sure how to go about it - that is, until now. Two of the campus security officers at my university have written and published books through self-publishing/print-on-demand companies, and they helped me through the process.

**I'm ****proud ****to ****announce ****that ****"No ****Safe ****Place" ****is ****officially ****a ****published ****novel!**

Since I posted the first chapter here on FanFiction on July 1, 2010, the story has received **18,778 ****(and ****counting) ****hits ****and ****202 ****reviews.**WOW. I'm quite proud of this story, but still amazed that it became so popular so quickly!

Somewhere during the process, I realized that the only part of the work that ISN'T mine are the recognizable 24 characters (Jack, Renee, Chloe, Arlo, etc.) The other characters are mine, the plot is entirely my own, etc.

I spent a good amount of time removing the copyrighted 24 characters and replacing them with my own, editing scenes that referenced 24 plot points, and re-working/re-writing several portions of the story.

**As ****of ****December ****19, ****2011, ****"No ****Safe ****Place" is ****officially ****available ****for ****purchase ****on ****CreateSpace ****and Amazon****!** The print copy is available, and someone is helping me with formatting to make the book available on the Kindle, Nook, iPad, computer, and other electronic formats (which will be available sometime after December 30). If you would like to purchase a copy, the link to my website is **www(dot)wix(dot)com/taylorw1/tnwbooks**.

There have sadly been cases of people claiming other authors' work as their own online, and I want to have proof that I am the actual author of the story, so I will be leaving the fan fiction version up here as a precaution.

Thank you all for supporting me in writing this story! I'm very proud of it and had a lot of fun writing it, and I'm so glad that people enjoyed it so much!

**~ Taylor ("Blue Kangaroo") ~**


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